


Trust Fall [Into My Bed]

by ofherlionheart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Actor Derek, Actor Stiles, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Human, Based on a Tumblr Post, Human Hales, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofherlionheart/pseuds/ofherlionheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles's eyes light up. “Did you see him, though? No wonder the dude is an Oscar winner. He’s amazing. I mean, I’ve worked with, like, Liam Neeson and Natalie Dormer. But Derek is something else – I don’t know, I can’t describe it. There’s just this, this thing about him, when we’re in a scene together, it’s so easy to just click with him, and you know some people hate how much I improvise, but Derek just takes it and rolls with it and adds stuff of his own –” He breaks off when he finally notices Lydia smirking. “What?”</p><p>“You’re rambling,” Lydia observes.</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“I guess you aren’t too tired to talk about Derek.”</p><p>---</p><p>In which Oscar-winner Derek Hale and sidekick-to-the-top-guns Stiles Stilinski are thrown together to star in a new, powerful film. Mix in feelings, long days, late nights, terrifyingly omniscient agents, the Hale clan, Canada, and some UST, and come out with a long story with liberal amounts of UST and fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From a post by bilesandthesourwolf on tumblr.
> 
> Characters belong to Jeff Davis and the crew at MTV.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dude! You killed a guy!” Scott exclaims.
> 
> “Actually, Scott, I killed seven guys,” Stiles replies, “About twenty times each.” Those action scenes were hell to take, because Mariette kept bitching about the choreography being too difficult to manage in her costume. “Why are we even watching this anyway? You’ve already seen this.”
> 
> “He just likes watching his best friend be a badass alongside other badasses on screen,” Allison says from where she is hugging her pillow.
> 
> Stiles rolls his eyes, because Scott, Scott is giving him the dopiest smile right now, and sinks further into the cushions.

**_action_.**

Stiles sprints around the corner, following the couple in front of him as they duck into an alleyway. People shout at the disturbance, and Stiles can hear the police closing in on them, heavy boots smacking against pavement.

“Cahill! Come _on!_ ”

Stiles puts on an extra burst of speed. The couple stops at a metal garage door; the man pulls it up half a foot, making a harsh grating sound, and Stiles swears. “What the hell, man, they’ll hear us!”

“Shut up and get over here,” the man snaps as the woman slides under the door.

“Like hell I will,” Stiles mutters. He drops to his knees and whips off his backpack, yanking the zippers and reaching into the bag.

“For the love of God, Cahill, what are you doing?” Luke shouts. “I’m going to leave you to the police –”

“Give me one damn second!”

Stiles finds the device. It is a bomb, small enough to fit in his palm but strong enough, if wired correctly, to blow out the entire block. Stiles does not need that much, though; he only needs a distraction and minimal damage to public property.

His fingers quickly wire the thing, moving by muscles memory _wire A to plug 3, match the yellows, wait for the green light, wire B to plug 2_ , and in a second he has it ready to go. The police round the corner, shouting and raising their guns, and Stiles hurls the bomb in their direction. Luke grabs him by the arm of his jacket, and with gunfire ringing in his ears, Stiles slides under the garage door.

“Luke!”

Luke is halfway in when the bomb goes off. Stiles flinches, rolling away from the sound and ramming into the woman’s legs. Luke shouts and jerks into the room, letting the door fall shut. The woman kicks Stiles off and kneels next to Luke.

“Shit shit _shit_ –”

“Oh, God,” Stiles mutters.

There is a huge piece of shrapnel sticking out of the shoulder of Luke’s shooting arm. Stiles’s stomach squirms at the sight of the blood, but he reminds himself it is fake.

“We’re not gonna make it,” Stiles says.

The woman glares at him, blue eyes flashing. “Yes, we _are_ ,” she insists. “We can’t give up –

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles asks, standing up. “We’re being chased through the city by law enforcement, we already lost Denny, Maria is probably _dead_ –”

“Don’t you mention Maria!” the woman shouts. “Maria wouldn’t be missing if _you_ hadn’t screwed up –”

“Skylar!” Luke snaps.

Skylar drops back to Luke’s side. “I can try to take it out,” she says, “And we can –”

“Well, isn’t this just perfect,” a voice says from the shadows.

Stiles freezes. He knows that voice. He turns, slowly, and there he is: Zeus himself, the head of this whole damn operation.

Zeus smiles at them, hands curling around the end of his cane. “I would offer my sympathies for the loss of Maria,” he says, “but really, you’ve done me a great service.”

Five armed men come out of the darkness, and Stiles swallows. This is all going to shit, real fast.

He reaches into his waistband and curls his fingers around the base of his gun.

**_cut_.**

* * *

“Dude! You killed a guy!” Scott exclaims.

“Actually, Scott, I killed seven guys,” Stiles replies, “About twenty times each.” Those action scenes were hell to take, because Mariette, the actress playing Skylar, kept bitching about the choreography being too difficult to manage in her costume. “Why are we even watching this anyway? You’ve already seen this.”

“He just likes watching his best friend be a badass alongside other badasses on screen,” Allison says from where she is hugging her pillow.

Stiles rolls his eyes, because _Scott_ , Scott is giving him the dopiest smile right now, and sinks further into the cushions. “It’s so embarrassing,” Stiles moans.

“What? Stiles –”

“It is!” Stiles flings at his hand at the screen, where he – or Vince Cahill, actually – is driving a taxi as Luke leans out the window and shoots down their pursuers. “I just – it – ugh.”

“We could be watching _Annie and Dex_ instead –”

“No! No, _Contrapposto_ is fine,” Stiles says.

“I think the eyeliner was a decent look for you,” Allison says with a teasing smile.

Stiles throws a handful of popcorn at her, and Scott retaliates for her by dumping the kernel bowl on Stiles’s lap. “Dude!” Stiles yelps, and jumps at Scott.

Stiles’s phone starts ringing, and he immediately forgets Scott, lunging to pick it up. “Hello?” he asks breathlessly.

“Don’t tell me you’re in the middle of jerking off.”

“Lydia, that was _one time_ –”

“One time too many.”

“I swore I’d never answer the phone again if I was –”

“Who is it?” Scott asks.

 _Lydia_ , Stiles mouths, and Allison pauses the movie.

“Can we get to what I want to talk about?” Lydia asks. “I have a daughter who needs a bath and a husband who needs some sex, and they both have very little patience to wait for my work commitments.”

“Yeah! Yeah, of course,” Stiles says. “What’s up?”

“I heard back from _A Little Push_.”

Stiles nearly drops his phone. He slams it onto Scott and Allison’s coffee table and turns it to speaker. “And?” he asks, buzzing with anticipation.

There is a pause. Then, “You got the part.”

Stiles shouts, throwing his arms in the air, and Allison and Scott cheer with him. Scott tackles him to the ground, and it takes Stiles a second to straighten up again.

“Oh, my God!” he shouts into the phone. “Are you serious? Like, _seriously?_ I’m playing Cory?” 

“Yes, you are.”

“They chose _me?_ To be _Cory?_ ”

“Oh, my God, _yes_ , Stiles,” Lydia huffs. “Congratulations, you idiot.”

Stiles shrieks and throws his arms around Scott, who is doing a victory dance on Stiles’s behalf. “Wait, wait, wait,” Stiles says, sitting up, his smile still impossibly wide. “Who’s playing Ryder?”

Lydia does not answer right away, and Stiles’s smile fades a bit. “Lydia?” he asks, gripping Scott’s shoulder tightly.

She inhales deeply and drops the bomb. “Derek Hale.”

Scott and Allison shriek. “Derek _Hale?_ ” Allison demands gleefully, hands flying to her face.

“It’s gonna be one hell of a film,” Lydia says, and Stiles _swears_ he hears the smirk in her tone.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathes out, and Scott, bastard that he is, cheerfully ruffles Stiles’s hair.

“Dude! You’re in a movie with Derek fucking Hale!”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Stiles says and flops onto the floor.

* * *

“Derek? Derek, Amy’s on the phone!”

Derek groans, rolling up from his exercise mat. He ruffles Cora’s hair on his way out, earning himself a glare, and takes the phone held out by Liam. “Thanks,” Derek tells his brother, then steps out of the house to take the call.

“Amy?”

“Derek!” Amy says, sounding chipper as ever. “How has your break been?”

“Not bad,” Derek says, when he really wants to say, _I am sick of this house and all my relatives, please tell me I have a job so I can escape this place_.

“I have news for you,” Amy said. “ _A Little Push_ called back. You’ve been offered the role of Ryder Styles.”

Derek’s heart thuds crazily. He was psyched to be able to audition for _A Little Push_ – he fell in love with the script the moment he read it, and he was able to audition after filming for _Lost Causes_ finished.

“Do you want it?” Amy asks.

“Yeah! Yes, of course,” Derek says. He laughs with relief, his lips curling. Ryder. He landed _Ryder_.

“Great! I’ll start sorting out the paperwork. Congrats, Derek.”

“Thanks, Amy.”

“The rest of the cast looks good. Jennifer is also in the film.”

Derek perks up. He met Jennifer Blake a couple years ago, costarring with her in _The Lady of the Dark Oak_ , and they quickly became friends. Jennifer is one of the most easy-going, gracious people Derek knows.

“I’ll send you the e-mail I got this morning, okay?” Amy continues.

“Sounds great,” Derek says.

Ryder Styles. _A Little Push_.

Maybe his career is looking up again.

* * *

A few hours later, it is dinner time at the Hale ranch, and an unusually small one at that – only thirteen people. Thirteen people is still plenty enough to cause a racket, though, and this dinner is no exception.

“Der! Did you see this? Kira Yukimura is in your movie!” Laura exclaims.

“Yes, I did see that,” Derek says. “That _is_ my phone you’re reading off of.”

“Didn’t you do another project with her, Derek?” his mother asks.

Derek nods, but before he can answer, Caitlin says, “He got to make out with her on her TV show!”

Derek glares at her. “I didn’t just make out with her. Neil was an important character –”

“Who died thirty minutes into the episode,” Puck interrupts.

The table laughs, and Derek narrows his eyes at his cousin. “Not helping,” he says, and Puck tosses his bread roll at Derek’s face.

“Oh, and look! Jennifer is playing … Carmine?”

“Jennifer still scares me,” Liam mutters as he helps his daughter make a picture out of her pasta and green peas. His son babbles happily as he makes a mess of his cheerios on his high-stand tray.

“You’re not scared of Jennifer, you’re scared of how well she played a psychotic murderer in _The Lady of the Dark Oak_ ,” Cora says.

“It was _really_ convincing,” Liam defends himself, and his wife knocks over the pyramid of peas Liam is constructing. Liam pouts, and little Harper laughs delightedly.

“Hey, Derek,” Laura says, “Who is Stiles Stilinski?”

“He’s playing Cory,” Derek says.

Derek’s phone pings in Laura’s hand. She taps it a few times, then turns it around so Derek can see. “Amy just sent this to you.”

It is a small interview clip from some convention, if the bright colors and casual dress are any indication. The man on the screen is pale and dark-haired with a few moles scattered across his face. _Stiles Stilinski_. Derek recognizes him, vaguely, but that is not why Derek’s heart is suddenly pounding like crazy. No, Derek is having trouble breathing because he does _not_ remember Stiles being this strikingly attractive.

“Mr. Stilinski, we heard you earned a lead role in _A Little Push_ ,” the interviewer says from offscreen.

Stiles nods and scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did. Somehow.” He laughs nervously, and Derek immediately likes the sound. It is light, easy.

“He’s cute,” Laura coos, and Cora shushes her.

“Are you excited to work with Derek Hale?” the interview asks.

“Yeah, I mean – the guy’s a legend. It’ll be a good experience for sure.”

The interviewer thanks him, and the screen freezes on Stiles’s face, his head tilted and his mouth half open.

“Aw, Derrie, he called you a _legend_ ,” Des teases, clasping her hands together.

Derek blushes when everyone starts laughing, and Derek sends Peter a pleading glance. Instead of addressing his daughter, though, Peter smirks and says, “You look a little dazed, my nephew. Does it have to do with how you feel about your new costar?”

This is why Derek should never go to Peter for help. “I hate you all,” Derek says morosely as Laura and Cora excitedly search the internet for shirtless photos of Stiles Stilinski, cackling mercilessly the entire time.

* * *

Eight weeks later, Derek is freezing his ass off on a rooftop in Vancouver.

Derek loves Vancouver; he has loved it since he filmed his first movie here. During his first stay he discovered the beauty of the city lights at night, and since then, Derek always spends a majority of his free nights hanging out on rooftops. Winter is approaching, though, so it is colder than Derek is used to. He grumbles and pulls his hat down further, burrowing his chin into his scarf and wrapping his hands around his ankles.

The door to the roof access opens, and Derek glances to the side. A tall young man wearing at least three hoodies appears, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Cold, are you?” the man asks.

Derek shifts, hiding his face deeper in his scarf. “Shouldn’t you be cold?”

“Ah, well, I never said _I_ wasn’t cold,” the man says. He sits down a few feet away from Derek, eyes cast out over the city.

“Protip: Canada is freezing after October. Always bring a scarf.”

The man laughs, leaning back on his hands. “I’ve been here a few times before,” he says.

“What for?”

“Work.”

“Me too.”

The man glances at Derek, but his features are lost in the shadows of his hood. “What do you do?”

“Variety of things,” Derek says. He wants to avoid the whole, _Oh, my God, you’re Derek Hale!_ thing. “You?”

The man snorts. “I guess you could say I usually just help out the top guns.”

Fair enough. If Derek is going to be vague, so can this guy.

“So what brings you out to the roof?” the guy asks.

“I could be asking you the same thing.”

“Okay. Well, I’m out here so when I get an angry voicemail tomorrow morning from Lydia, I can truthfully I say I wasn’t in the room to get her check-in call.”

Derek briefly wonders if Lydia is of amicable, familial, or romantic relationship. “Why go through all the trouble if you’ll just talk to her anyway?”

“She seems to think I’ll do something like trip going up the stairs and end up breaking my neck if she doesn’t constantly check in on me.” He snorts. “Knowing me, I probably could do something that stupid, but Lydia has her own husband and kid to worry about.”

“I don’t think your plan will make her worry any less,” Derek points out.

“It’s a slow process. If I repeatedly prove to her I can survive a plane ride without her hovering over me, she’ll eventually stop fretting so much.”

Derek snorts. “Good luck with that.”

The man pokes Derek’s arm. “How about you?” he asks. “I believe _I_ was the first one to ask a question.”

Derek bites back a grin. “I forgot what you asked,” he replies, and _what?_ Is he flirting with this stranger? Yes, he is. Derek blames the effects of the city at night.

“What deep and profound reason do you have to be freezing your ass off on a hotel roof?”

Derek smirks, following a light as it bobs along the bay several miles (kilometers? This _is_ Canada) away. “I just like the lights.”

The guys laughs. “That’s it? No deeper, philosophical reason?”

Derek shrugs. “I don’t see why there has to be.”

“Fair enough.”

“What made you think there’d be a profound reason, anyway?”

“Ordinary guys don’t exactly brood on Canadian rooftops in freezing temperatures.”

“It’s not _freezing_ temperatures.”

“Shush, I’m trying to create an atmosphere.”

Derek raises an eyebrow though the stranger cannot see it. “An atmosphere of frostbite and potential hypothermia?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Silence falls between them, and Derek listens to the city traffic below them. It is only a Tuesday, so the traffic is already slowing down as most people turn in for the night in preparation to get up early the next morning. Derek himself should probably return to his room soon; he wants to fit in a short workout before the first script read-through tomorrow morning.

The man next to Derek checks his watch, then stands up. “Well, it’s late enough for Lydia to give up calling,” he says. “Thanks for sharing the roof with me.”

“Anytime.”

The guy wiggles his fingers in a small wave, then retreats back into the building. Derek exhales into his scarf, enjoying the feeling of warm air blossoming over his chin and cheeks.

The night really is beautiful.

* * *

**From Scott:** allison wants to know if youve met him yet

 **From Scott:** i also want to know if youve met him yet

 **From Scott:** allison asks if his biceps are as huge as they look onscreen

 **To Scott:** no i haven’t met him yet

 **To Scott:** why isn’t allison just texting me herself?

 **From Scott:** her stomach hurts too much to get up and get her phone so im texting for her

Stiles rolls his eyes. His best friend is a besotted idiot, but Stiles absolutely prefers the besotted idiot to the lovesick idiot.

Stiles casts his eyes around the hotel conference room; it is already halfway full with people. These are the people Stiles is going to spend the next several months working and living with, trying to pull off _A Little Push_. This morning is the first read through with everyone, and Stiles? Yeah, Stiles admits he is a bit nervous.

He slides his phone into his pocket when a short Asian girl comes up to him. “Hey, are you Stiles?” she asks, smiling brightly.

“Yeah! Yes, I am,” Stiles says, standing up and sticking out his hand. “I am him, he is me. You’re … Kira Yukimura?”

“That’s me!” Kira responds brightly.

“Wow, it’s so great to meet you,” Stiles says. He is talking to _Kira Yukimura_ , Hollywood’s deadliest female actress. Literally – Kira has had training in traditional Japanese and Korean fighting styles since she was a young girl. If she wanted to, she could probably murder Stiles in ten seconds flat with nothing but her own body. Stiles tells her as much, and Kira laughs, hiding her mouth with her hand.

“I have yet to actually kill someone,” she says. “I’m also pretty sure my agent would kill _me_ with all the press that would attract.”

Stiles shudders. “Agents can be terrifying.”

Another woman comes over, her heels clicking across the wooden floor. “Kira!” she calls, waving a hand, and Kira waves back with gusto.

“Jen! So good to see you. Have you met Stiles?’

“Jennifer Blake?” Stiles asks, mind reeling at a thousand miles per hour. “You have no idea how many nightmares I got from watching _The Lady of the Dark Oak_.”

Jennifer laughs, and thank _God_ it sounds nothing like her psychotic murderer laughter. “Good to hear! Means I did my job well.”

Stiles smiles, shaking her hand. “Way too well.”

“Mm, Stiles! Jen and I were talking – what, about a week ago? We both saw _The Circus Freak_ , and you did _such_ an amazing job –”

“Oh, God,” Stiles groans.

The two women laugh. “No, you were good!” Jennifer says, smiling earnestly.

“Let’s just say, if I never have to wear a leotard ever again, I will die a happy man,” Stiles says.

“Did you learn to how throw knives to play Twirler?” Jennifer asks.

“Yeah! I did, actually,” Stiles says. And he had a hell of a good time learning it, too, particularly because he was damn good at it. He completely freaked out Scott the first day he came back from filming, and since then knife-throwing has been one of his favorite party tricks – balance an apple on a friend’s head, nail it from all the way across the room. It is a trick that could get Stiles in a shit-ton of trouble if it ever went wrong, but Stiles believes in his skills. Plus, he has always been a bit reckless.

Kira’s eyes light up. “What throwing style did you learn? Or did you learn more than one style? I’ve never been big on knife throwing, but –”

“Kira!”

Kira turns around, distracted, and sees someone across the room. “Oh, hey! Jen, it’s Crystal, didn’t you want to talk –?”

“Oh! Good.” Jennifer waves to Stiles. “Nice meeting you!”

Kira smiles sheepishly at Stiles. “Sorry, but we gotta –”

Stiles waves his hand. “Nah, it’s all right. See you around.”

Kira disappears into the crowd after Jennifer, and Stiles digs into his pocket to grab his incessantly buzzing phone.

 **From Scott:** wait wasnt jblake that serial killer in dark oak?

 **From Scott:** she gave me nightmares man

 **From Scott:** allison is making fun of me

 **From Scott:** that movie was scary as shit im allowed to have nightmares about it

 **From Scott:** allison asks if youve met derek yet

Stiles rolls his eyes as he taps out a hasty reply.

 **To Scott:** dude it’s been five minutes no i haven’t

 **To Scott:** i met kira and jblake though

 **From Scott:** dude!!!!!!

 **From Scott:** allison wants to meet kira

 **From Scott:** wants to talk about weapons?

Stiles snorts, already thinking of a witty response, when he knocks into someone. He instinctively jumps back and barely avoids getting splashed by the person’s drink.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” Stiles says.

“No, it’s fine, only got my hand –”

Stiles looks up and nearly chokes. “Oh – _shit_. Derek!”

Derek Hale raises an eyebrow at him. “Yes.”

“Okay. Um. This is embarrass – um. I’m Stiles,” Stiles finishes lamely, sticking out a hand.

Both of Derek’s eyebrows are raised now. “I’d shake your hand,” he says slowly, as if Stiles is a simpleton, “But I got my drink all over mine –”

Stiles winces. “Oh, God, right. Sorry about your coffee –” He glances at Derek’s cup. “Tea. You drink tea.”

Derek looks vaguely amused as he sets down his cup and shakes out his hand. “Yes, Stiles, I drink tea.”

“Great! I mean, cool. That’s cool.” Stiles makes a mental note to tell Scott that Derek Hale drinks tea instead of coffee, but then remembers talking to Scott is what got him into this mess in the first place. “Maybe Lydia is right,” Stiles muses aloud. “I’m a danger to myself and everyone around me. I should be locked up –”

Derek freezes. “Lydia?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah, Lydia. She’s my agent. Also a bit of a mother hen, but let’s face it, I have a talent for getting myself into messy situations –”

“I’ve met you before.”

Now _Stiles_ freezes. “What?”

“Last night. You came onto the rooftop.”

Stiles’s jaw drops. “That was _you?_ ” he demands.

“Yeah.”

Stiles spent last night flirting with Derek Hale, his fluffy-haired, unfairly attractive, five-o’clock-shadow-at-nine-in-the-morning costar.

One of the powers above must take mercy on Stiles, because at that moment the producer whistles loudly to call their attention, and Stiles does not have to try to salvage the sinking ship that is his first face-to-face conversation with Derek Hale.

* * *

Two hours later, Stiles is drowning in the feeling of being in way, _way_ over his head.

The reading so far has gone no better and no worse than any other script reading Stiles has done before, but with this one, there is a mounting pressure building up on Stiles’s back, causing his spine to curve and shoulders to hunch. As soon as they are dismissed for a short break, Stiles flees the conference room, walking quickly and aimlessly until he eventually ends up in a locker room of some sort. Stiles braces himself against the sink, telling himself to breathe deeply and steady his heart.

It is just another movie, right? A movie with great potential, sure, and a well-written screenplay and talented cast and crew. But that does not make it any extraordinarily different from any of the other films Stiles has done. Right? _Right?_ Right.

Stiles cannot even convince himself.

The locker room door opens, and it takes Stiles a second to realize he is being addressed. He looks over his shoulder, and _of course_ , it is Derek who has followed him here.

“This looks really unprofessional, doesn’t it?” Stiles asks weakly.

Derek shrugs, sitting down on a wooden bench that is bolted to the floor. “There isn’t much of a norm for professionalism in our field of work.”

Stiles chokes on a laugh. “Dammit, of course you’ve funny,” he says, and Derek looks confused. Before he can say anything, though, Stiles presses on.

“I’m kind of scared shitless, okay?” he admits. “Because this – this is going to be _big_ , and I’m afraid of screwing it up, and, and it’s not like I’ve ever done this before, this type of film with this type of role. I probably have the least experience of everyone here, and everyone else is so _chill_ about it all that I have to wonder what’s wrong with me.”

Stiles sees Derek shaking his head in the mirror. “You’re freaking out,” he says, and Stiles barely prevents himself from rolling his eyes.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Stiles drawls instead, and that really is not much better than an eyeroll. He turns around so he can make proper eye contact with Derek.

Derek, who is glaring at him like Sties just offended him. Great. _Ten points to you, Stilinski, you have pissed off your costar_.

“You think I’m not feeling the pressure?” Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs. “I mean, you’ve done these things before. Big, important films. Award-winning films. Hell,” he exclaims, flinging out an arm, “You’ve won more than one Oscar.”

Derek shakes his head. “I need this film just as badly as you do,” he says. “You need it to make the final jump. I need it to hang on.”

Stiles opens his mouth to argue but then realizes how _right_ Derek is. Stiles needs this role to launch him beyond the realm of sidekick; Derek needs this to keep his career from falling off the tracks. Derek has not had a good film in a couple years, now, and he is nearing the age when some actors who started out younger begin to drop out and leave the business.

Stiles cannot imagine being forced out of acting.

“So are you going to give up?” Derek asks. “Are you going to cave to the pressure, pack your bags and head home?”

Stiles bristles. He can smell a challenge from miles away, and Derek’s eyes are alight with a daring fire. If there is one thing Stilinskis are known for, it is for never backing down from a challenge, and Stiles sure is not going to start doing that now. He steels himself, looks Derek straight in the eye, and says:

“We are going to make one _hell_ of a movie.”

Derek grins, sharp and feral and beautiful, and fire blazes beneath Stiles’s skin.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you eating noodles?” Jackson asks suspiciously.
> 
> “Maybe,” Stiles replies, nudging his plate out of the camera’s line of sight.
> 
> “Don’t go heavy on the carbs unless you know you’re going to burn them off the next day.”
> 
> “Are you my trainer?”
> 
> “He’s just looking out for your figure, sweetheart,” Lydia says smoothly.

**_action_.**

“Wait, wait – you said they were found handcuffed to the lamppost?” Stiles asks disbelievingly.

Braeden sighs, kicking her feet up onto the captain’s desk. “Yes, Cory,” she says. “Handcuffed – police regulation handcuffs – with their weapons in the mailbox.”

Stiles rounds to face the bulletin board, eyes flickering from one image to another. “They were Cecily Davenport’s murderers.”

“Yes. Labs confirmed the blood match yesterday night.”

Stiles taps his fingers against his thigh. _Think, think_ , he tells himself, snagging his lower lip and worrying it with his teeth. “So we got Cecily’s killers.”

“Yes, we did, but that’s besides the point –”

“I don’t think it’s besides the point! Those two men _killed_ a little girl, and her family deserves to know that they can sleep peacefully at night with those men behind bars –”

Braeden swings her feet back down and sits straight. “Of course that’s important,” she snaps, “but this whole situation brings up a more pressing concern. Our vigilante is back.”

Stiles freezes. “I thought he was dead.”

Braeden digs a file out of the pile on her desk and flicks it open. Stiles comes around to look at it over her shoulder as she launches into an explanation.

“We have hard evidence that he was at the Greenwich factory the night it exploded,” she says, pulling out photo after horrifying photo of burnt buildings and bodies. “No one ever saw him leave, though, and there were plenty of unidentifiable bodies on the scene after the fire was put out.”

“Seriously? We just assumed the guy was dead?” Stiles asks incredulously. “Do you even realize how unprofessional that sounds?”

“There wasn’t any vigilante activity for six years, and the old captain was desperate to declare the vigilante taken care of.”

“Are you actually _defending_ that decision?”

Braeden slams her fist down on her desk. “I don’t know, okay?” she snaps. She closes her eyes, takes a breath to steady herself, and tucks an errant strand of black hair behind her ear. “We need to take down the vigilante. If he is around, the public might start believing it’s okay for them to take the law in their own hands, and down that road is chaos. The last thing this city needs is more chaos. Do you understand?”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re telling this to _me_.”

“You’re the only man on my squad who hasn’t had to deal with this bastard before.”

“You need a fresh mind,” Stiles says absently, attention suddenly fixated on a crime scene photo. He cautiously walks back to the bulletin board, as if the detail he has spotted will run away if he makes a sudden movement.

“I need your mind, specifically.”

“One more question.”

When Braeden does not respond, Stiles twists to look over his shoulder. She has an eyebrow raised impassively at him, and she gestures for him to continue.

“Do you just call him the vigilante? Or does he have a name?”

“Matter of preference,” she says. Her expression turns dark. “But some people call him the Alpha.”

“Like … the term from the coding system?”

Braeden nods grimly “Exactly.”

Stiles returns his gaze to the board, to the picture with the blurred restaurant awning in the background. The colors, though, are familiar enough; it is _Le Roi du Loup_ , the classiest restaurant in the dumpiest part of town. Stiles has a gut feeling, and his gut tells him to go there, so what is he going to do?

He is going to go there, consequences be damned.

**_cut_.**

* * *

“How was day one?” Lydia asks.

Stiles adjusts the angle of his laptop screen so there is not a glare across Lydia’s face. “It was … good.”

“Care to elaborate?”

There is a commotion on Lydia’s side, and she shifts over so Jackson can sit next to her and fit into the screen. Their daughter, Genevieve, is asleep on Jackson’s chest.

“Hey, Jacky,” Stiles says. Jackson glares at him, and Stiles happily takes a bite of his Chinese leftovers.

“Stiles?” Lydia prompts, one eyebrow delicately raised.

Stiles shrugged. The first day of actual shooting always feels like testing the waters for him. No matter how many rehearsals and read-throughs they have, when the costumes come on and the cameras start rolling, that is a completely different experience.

“We didn’t do anything very complicated today,” he says. “I mostly shot scenes with Braeden.”

“Did you shoot with Derek?” Lydia asks.

“No, thank God.”

“Thank God? What do you mean, _Thank God?_ Are there any problems? Are you not getting along? I can –”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Stiles says, cutting Lydia off. “We’re okay.” More than okay, in fact. Stiles really enjoys working with Derek so far; there is something about his energy that just compliments Stiles’s, something Stiles can _play_ with in a scene. “I’m just … nervous.”

Jackson laughs, and Stiles pointedly glares at him. “You’d be nervous if you were in my situation!”

“I don’t get nervous,” he replies smugly.

Stiles sighs, because he is telling the truth. Gone is the stuttering, cannot-tell-a-lie-to-save-himself Jackson of high school; his University for Accomplished Lawyers did something to him, and now Jackson can lie and poker face like the best of them. Now Lydia is the only one who can tell when he is not telling the truth.

“Stiles, you’re going to do fine,” Lydia says, unusually reassuring.

“I can’t help feeling what I feel!” Stiles protests.

“You’re going to do _fine_ ,” Lydia repeats, tone hard again, “Because if you weren’t, they never would have even thought about offering you the job.”

Stiles huffs. “Fine. Fine.”

“Are you eating noodles?” Jackson asks suspiciously.

“Maybe,” Stiles replies, nudging his plate out of the camera’s line of sight.

“Don’t go heavy on the carbs unless you know you’re going to burn them off the next day.”

“Are you my trainer?”

“He’s just looking out for your figure, sweetheart,” Lydia says smoothly.

Stiles snorts. If someone went back in time to tell his high school self that he would one day be friends with and receive tips on how to maintain his abs from Jackson, Stiles would have laughed in that person’s face. But this is his life, now, and he has to live with it, strange quirks included.

“Remember back in high school?” Stiles asks them. “Back when I was a nobody of the primordial ooze that makes up the bottom of the social hierarchy, and you two were the king and queen …”

Lydia and Jackson make twin expressions of disgust, and Stiles is nearly offended until Genevieve wakes up with an earsplitting bawl. “Genni take a poop?” he asks, and Lydia nods.

“I’ll change her,” Jackson volunteers, and Lydia pecks his cheek.

Stiles whistles. “You’ve trained him well.”

Lydia snorts. “Me? Please. _Genni_ trained him. He’s wrapped around her finger.”

And who would have known that Jackson would be such an attentive and loving parent? _Maybe people are not born assholes_ , Stiles thinks. _Or maybe they can grow out of it_.

“You’re going to be okay, okay?” Lydia says.

Stiles scratches the back of his head. “Yeah – yeah, I mean. I will.”

“Good. I refuse to fly up there any sooner than I have to.”

Stiles glances at the clock and sighs. “I should turn in,” he says. “Gotta get up early tomorrow.”

Lydia nods. “Sounds good. Good night, Stiles.”

“G’night.”

Stiles ends the video chat, shuts his laptop, and starts getting ready to go to bed. It is another day full of filming tomorrow, again without much of Derek involved in Stiles’s scenes. Stiles is more than happy to postpone his first day of filming with Derek due to his strange nervousness, but at the same, Stiles wants to start right now. Being around Derek fills him with this energy, a good energy that makes Stiles feel like he can sprint a marathon or jump to the moon or just _explode_. Derek _does_ something to Stiles, and while that terrifies Stiles, it also excites his curiosity like nothing else.

When Stiles finally makes it under the covers, he feels jittery, like every molecule of his being is vibrating with excited anticipation. It is a miracle that he even manages to fall asleep.

* * *

Stiles’s favorite times on set are when he is not filming. Do not get him wrong, of course he loves filming – why else would he willingly become an actor? – but Stiles loves to watch his costars work. There is something about watching people he knows utterly absorb themselves with another character that Stiles just loves. He gets chills, watching the people he knows slip into utterly different personalities, and hey, he sometimes learns from them. Stiles’s profession is an art form, and art forms can always be improved upon.

Kira and Derek are currently on set, only a couple minutes away from filming. Kira is sitting on the floor, her legs folded neatly and her wrists resting on her thighs. As she meditates, a beautician touches up the pale powder on the actress’s cheeks.

“Does she always do that?” Stiles asks no one in particular.

“Not always.”

Stiles jumps and whips his head around. Derek, quiet little sneak that his is, has appeared behind Stiles’s shoulder. He is in costume, a pair of dark, snug jeans and a simple long-sleeve pushed up to his elbows. He grins at Stiles’s reaction and leans against the chair Stiles is occupying.

“If she’s about to film a high-action scene, she runs through a few drills with her katana or nun-chucks,” Derek explains.

Stiles whistles. “That’s kind of terrifying.”

Derek shrugs. “It’s her thing.”

“So what do you do?” Stiles asks, nudging Derek with his elbow.

Derek raises an eyebrow. “What do I do?’

“Yeah. Do you have a routine? A regiment? Something you do to get your head in the game?”

Derek gives him a flat look. “Get my head in the game.”

“Uh-huh. Go Wildcats!”

Derek huffs, but he looks generally amused, so Stiles counts it as a win. “Can’t believe you made a High School Musical reference.”

“Can’t believe _you_ picked up on it.”

“I have younger relatives,” Derek says defensively.

Stiles laughs, but before he can cross-examine the legitimacy of Derek’s answer, the director calls for his actors. Kira rises from her meditating, and Derek straightens up.

“You going to stick around?” Derek asks him.

Stiles nods. “For a little. I don’t have another scene until tomorrow.”

Derek grins. “That’s going to be a fun one.”

“Oh, yeah. I love getting my ass handed to me.”

Derek snorts. “Try not to be too distracting,” he says, sauntering off to the set.

“I’m not a distraction!” Stiles calls after him. He is immediately hushed by the director’s assistant, and Stiles sinks back down in his seat. He swears he can see Derek’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter and sends his costar a mental _Ha, ha, so funny_. His lips twitch into a grin, though, because hey, he made his costar smile. Maybe Derek is not a god. Maybe he is just as human as Stiles.

The lights adjust to fit the scene, and Stiles resettles in his chair, focusing his attention on the two people performing in front of him.

* * *

**_action_.**

Derek is drinking a cup of coffee when his front door bursts open and Kira storms in. “You know,” she says, “when I said you needed to start doing something with your life again, I didn’t mean going back to _this_.”

She slams a folder down on the table in front of Derek. Derek calmly flicks it open and begins looking at the photos. The first is of two men who are handcuffed to a lamppost; next a woman, gagged and tied tightly to a telephone pole; then a middle-aged man with his wrist zip-tied together in an abandoned warehouse; and on and on, a total of about fifteen different crime scene photos.

“I’ve been gone for _two months_ ,” Kira says, “And this is what you get up to?”

Derek raises his eyebrows, smiling slightly. “Welcome home, cousin.”

Kira glares. “Ryder. I’m not kidding.”

“You told me to go out and do something. I’m doing something.”

“But not _this!_ ” she cries. “I didn’t want you to go back to – to crime fighting, to being some cracked-up hero from your imagination!”

Derek’s expression turns stormy and guarded. “I’m not a hero,” he growls, crossing his arms.

“Then why do you keep coming back to this?” she asks exasperatedly.

Derek stares at her, unable to reply. _Because this city needs it_ , he thinks. _Because I don’t want anyone to go through what I experienced. Because I don’t know how to do anything else_.

“Six years ago, you nearly died,” Kira says. Her voice takes on a pleading tone. “I nearly lost you. And while you’re wasting away in self-pity, don’t forget that you’re not the only one who has lost people. My family died in the same damn fire.”

For a second, Derek looks repentant. He shuts the folder and stands, moving to place his mug in the sink of the kitchenette. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he says, watching a bee fly through the flowered vines hanging from his backyard’s fence.

“I’m always worried about you,” Kira says softly.

“How about a deal?” Derek suggests, turning back to Kira and resting his weight against the countertop.

Kira eyes him warily. “A deal.”

“I always tell you when I’m going out, where I’m going, what I’m trying to do.”

“And what’s my end?”

“You do what you’ve always done.”

“I become your personal intelligence unit again.”

Derek nods, and Kira purses her lips. “I refuse to get into this again,” she says obstinately.

Derek shrugs. “It’s your choice. But regardless of what you choose, I’m still going to be out there.”

“Being a vigilante.”

“Being the Alpha.”

Kira rolls her eyes, and Derek grins. It is a cool nickname, even if it has a totally arbitrary origin. Not that he would ever admit it, but Derek is a bit pleased that the public likes him enough to give him a nickname. Derek waits expectantly for Kira’s response, and he knows he has won the instant her shoulders sag.

“Fine. Deal.”

Derek grins again. “So,” he says, “What can you tell me about Baylor Industries?”

“ _Already?_ ”

“Well, Deanna. As they say, evil never sleeps.”

**_cut_.**

* * *

If Derek thought working with Stiles would be tolerable, then he was completely wrong. 

Working with Stiles is the absolute fucking best thing Derek has done in ages.

It all begins with Stiles’s magnetism. Since their first meeting on the rooftop, Derek has felt drawn toward the other man, whether they are on or off set. There is something so engaging about Stiles that Derek sometimes finds himself lingering after he is done shooting a scene just to watch Stiles work.

Stiles is one of those actors who, to put it simply, _dares_. Stiles does not live by the script or the director’s comments; he is not afraid to add a new twist, something just a bit _different_ , to each take of a scene. Nothing he does is forced, either. Stiles just sinks into his character, until everything he does seems as natural as if he were being himself. Sometimes Derek forgets that acting is an art form, not just work, but being around Stiles, Derek is constantly reminded of the artistry of his profession.

Even now, Derek is watching Stiles shoot a scene. His character is alone, for the moment. It is an incredibly dull scene, actually, more of a transitional filler than a real scene – Cory is going through his routine before going to bed. In the story, this is the night after Cory finds Cecily Davenport’s dead body, and Derek can feel a certain … air, a certain _energy_ coming off of Stiles. It is in the way Stiles narrows his eyes at his reflection, the twitching of his fingers, the tight, controlled motions Stiles uses to strip down to his underwear and climb into bed. 

Derek is thoroughly enthralled, and he would feel more self-conscious about it if he were the only one. But he is not; the set is dead silent, and everyone feels Cory’s frustration and anger as acutely as if it were their own.

The director calls cut, and Derek quietly slips away before anyone notices him watching. He will be returning in an hour, anyway – he has a scene to film with Stiles, and it is an important one.

* * *

**_action_.**

The gym is dim and run-down. Walking in feels a bit like entering another decade; the floor and walls are all made of wood, and dingy old fighting posters are the only source of color. Dust motes twirl through the air, creating patterns in the sunlight. In the center is a raised wrestling ring, and inside the ring, Derek is in the middle of a fight.

 _Right hook, duck, step back, left uppercut_. It is the same series of steps Derek has repeated several times, and by now, he is actually feeling a bit of strain in his muscles. But the soreness has more to do with what comes next.

From the corner of his eye, Derek sees Stiles, and it takes every ounce of his self-control not to look at the young man. _It is the first time you meet him_ , Derek reminds himself, then throws the “killer” punch at his opponent. 

His opponent – a spare stunt double – falls and stays down for a few seconds, then gets up, nods at Derek, and leaves the ring.

“You call that an uppercut?” a voice calls.

Derek glances around the room until his eyes fall on Stiles. He appraises Stiles, quickly scanning him up and down, then raises an eyebrow. “What would you call it?’

Stiles shrugs, coming up to lean against the ring, his arms looped over the lower rope. “I’d call that a lucky shot.”

“It won the fight, didn’t it?”

“That fight, maybe. Doesn’t guarantee the next one.”

Derek smirks. “Want to prove it?” he challenges, jerking his head to motion Stiles into the ring.

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek, assessing for a moment, then swings himself into the ring. He removes his shoes and socks, dumps them over the edge of the mat, then positions himself across from Derek. He does not say anything, just grins crookedly, and Derek takes that as the signal to start the fight.

It is more of a dance than a fight; carefully choreographed and well-practiced, their movements carry them in and out of each other’s space. The longer the fight draws on, the more extravagant and flashy their moves become. When one of Derek’s kicks barely misses clipping Stiles’s ribcage, laughter bursts out of Stiles’s mouth, and Derek’s lips reflexively twitch into a smile. They exchange a couple more blows, and then Derek kicks low, wiping Stiles’s feet out from under him.

Stiles lands, and it looks painful, but Derek knows from the right angle, one could see how Stiles braces himself to minimize the impact. Derek plants his feet on either side of Stiles’s body, then sinks down to his knees so he is nearly straddling the other man.

“Looks like I won again,” Derek says. He is panting, but his body still thrums with energy, an energy he can feel Stiles sending right back to him.

Stiles takes a moment, steadying his breathing, before asking, “Know how to wrestle?”

For a split second, Derek is taken aback, but then he thinks, _why the hell not_. He trusts Stiles, so he goes along with it. Derek nods slightly, opening his mouth to say, “Yeah –”

Before the syllable is even fully out, Stiles grabs Derek and twists. Somehow he manages to flip their positions, and it is only years of Cora beating the shit of Derek (supposedly for the sake of teaching her mixed-martial arts class) that makes Derek instinctively shove a knee into Stiles’s gut and send them bowling over. They roll to a stop with Derek on top again, but his victory is short-lived; Stiles wriggles, Derek loses his hold on him, and with a grunt, Stiles rolls them sideways until he comes out above, hovering over Derek. A drop of perspiration rolls down Stiles’s neck, and Derek is overcome with the completely untimely and inappropriate urge to lick it.

“You were saying?” Stiles prompts cockily.

Derek’s eyes flicker over Stiles’s body. _There!_ Stiles’s ankle. Derek quickly lashes out, causing Stiles to yelp, and in a second, he has Stiles pinned. Derek is sitting just above Stiles’s hips, and their bodies, parallel to each other, are so close that their chests nearly touch on each inhale.

“Winner,” Derek says and breaks into a feral grin.

Stiles laughs, and Derek takes the cue to climb off of him. He watches Stiles stand up, and once he is on his feet, Derek sticks out his hand. “I’m Ryder,” he says.

Stiles waits for a moment, eyes once again narrowed appraisingly, and then takes Derek’s hand. “Cory,” he says, and it takes every ounce of Derek’s willpower not to smile, or shiver in response to the electricity in Stiles’s handshake.

**_cut_.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why must you be so cruel to me?” Stiles cries as Boyd strides away to where Kira is beating up a punching bag. Boyd does not dignify Stiles with a response, so Stiles rolls onto his side in order to face Derek. “Why, Derek?” Stiles asks. “Why is he so mean?”
> 
> Derek rolls his eyes. He is also drenched in a fine layer of sweat, but unlike Stiles, he does not seem to be dying. Stiles decides the universe is unfair.
> 
> “You’re histrionic,” Derek scoffs.
> 
> “Of course I am,” Stiles replies, halfheartedly smacking Derek’s leg. “It’s my profession.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kate Argent is mentioned, as (of course) one of Derek's not-so-good past relationships. And that's about as in depth as it goes.

“For the record, I do _not_ believe this counts as a day off,” Stiles tells the ceiling. There is a snort from somewhere off to his left, and Stiles cannot tell if it is Derek or Boyd, but either way, Stiles does not appreciate it.

He is currently sprawled across an exercise mat, drenched in sweat and trying to convince his muscles that they are not dying. Today is a day off from filming, but Stiles was strong-armed into a training session with the movie’s (and, coincidentally, Derek’s) trainer, Boyd. Boyd is a huge, taciturn black man who probably eats rocks for breakfast, and _damn_ , does he know how to create a workout.

“I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow,” Stiles whines, futilely trying to wipe his forehead on his sweat-soaked shirtsleeve.

“Yes, you will,” Boyd counters, unaffected by Stiles’s plaintive tone. “Five minute water break, and then you’re finishing those squats.”

“Why must you be so cruel to me?” Stiles cries as Boyd strides away to where Kira is beating up a punching bag. Boyd does not dignify Stiles with a response, so Stiles rolls onto his side in order to face Derek. “Why, Derek?” Stiles asks. “Why is he so mean?”

Derek rolls his eyes. He is also drenched in a fine layer of sweat, but unlike Stiles, he does not seem to be dying. Stiles decides the universe is unfair.

“You’re histrionic,” Derek scoffs.

“Of course I am,” Stiles replies, halfheartedly smacking Derek’s leg. “It’s my profession.”

Derek takes a sip of water, then passes the bottle to Stiles, who greedily sucks it down. He swears, he is in shape – he worked _hard_ to get abs for this movie – but the combination of his trainer plus Jackson has _nothing_ on Boyd. “How’d you even find this guy?” Stiles asks Derek once he has drained half the bottle. He tosses it back to Derek, who frowns.

“You’ll get cramps from drinking too much.”

“I’m dying either way,” Stiles says. “But seriously. Where’d you find Boyd?”

Derek shrugs. “He works with my sister.”

Stiles struggles into a sitting position. “Seriously? Is your sister as jacked as he is?”

Derek snorts. “No. She’s small.”

“But could she still kick my ass?”

Derek gives Stiles a quick once over and smirks. “Definitely.”

“ _Rude_.”

Stiles shoves at Derek’s shoulder, and Derek lets him get away with it, leaning away and laughing before bouncing back.

“Okay, okay, consider this,” Stiles says. “Who would win in a fight: Kira or Jennifer?”

“Kira,” Derek immediately replies.

“Okay, bad question,” Stiles admits. “Kira could probably take down anyone here. But what about Jennifer versus Braeden?”

Derek tilts his head. Across the gym, Braeden is on a stationary bike as Jennifer runs through a pilates routine. They are conversing with each other, and every minute or so Jennifer’s clear laughter echoes throughout the spacious room.

“Braeden,” Derek eventually decides.

Stiles cocks his head, then acquiesces. “I can see that.” He holds out his hand for the water bottle again, and Derek begrudgingly gives it to him. “Is there anyone Jennifer could beat?”

“Yeah. Daehler.”

Stiles bursts out laughing, and Derek smiles smugly, leaning in towards Stiles. At that moment, Matt wanders over from one of the weight machines. “Do I hear myself being insulted?” he asks with a relaxed smile.

“No! Not at all,” Stiles says.

“Now, I agree, Jennifer would have a chance at beating me in a fight,” Matt says. “But you, Stiles? I’m pretty sure I could beat you.”

“Preposterous.” 

“I don’t know, Stiles,” Derek says, smirking lazily again. “I think he could beat you.”

Stiles’s jaw drops. “Do you _doubt_ my abilities?”

“You have abilities?”

Stiles splutters, arms flailing in the air. “No. _No_ ,” he says. He pushes himself to his feet and sinks into a mock boxing stance, bouncing in front of Matt. “You wanna go, Daehler?” he asks. “I’m going to prove you both wrong. I could _so_ beat you –”

“Stiles! You’re up!” Boyd booms from across the gym. “I guess that means you’re up for those squats now?”

Derek and Matt break into laughter as Stiles straightens up and waves his arms. “No, not at all!” he denies. “I need my full five minutes, it’s only been –”

“Up and at ‘em,” Boyd insists with a toothy smile, smacking Stiles’s shoulder with a meaty hand. Derek and Matt are still hooting with laughter, and Stiles chucks the water bottle at Derek, but Derek merely catches it before it hits his chest.

“You are all terrible,” Stiles says darkly. “You won’t be laughing when I wake up and can’t get out of bed tomorrow morning.”

“Man up, Stilinski,” Derek says.

“You’re not the one doing squats!”

“I’ll do them too,” he replies and swiftly rises to his feet. Stiles tries and fails to not be envious of the natural grace with which Derek moves. Derek follows Stiles to the squat rack, where Boyd is already loading up a barbell.

“Bet you I can finish the set faster,” Derek says.

“Is that a challenge, Hale?”

“Damn right, it’s a challenge.”

They make eye contact, hazel meeting amber, and Stiles feels something jolt deep within his bones. Something must show on his face, because Derek breaks out into another one of his beautiful, feral grins, and Stiles’s energy ramps up by ten.

“Challenge accepted,” he says, then grabs the barbell in front of him and prepares himself for the agonizing fire.

* * *

**_action_.**

The benefit gala is being thrown by Baylor Industries, and if Stiles did not already know how affluent the head of Baylor Industries was, he would be more surprised by the lavishness of the event. However, he _does_ know the company’s head, so the large ballroom decorated in crystal and gold is basically expected.

Stiles grabs an hors d’oeuvre from a passing waiter and manages to eat it without making a mess of his suit. To be honest, he is not a fan of this suit, but duty calls; an undercover cop has gotta do what he has gotta do, even if that means an uncomfortably tight pair of pants.

At that moment one of the large wooden doors at the front of the hall opens, and Jennifer walks in. She is dressed to kill tonight, with stilettos and a slinky wine-red dress that shows off a generous amount of her milky white skin. Her curled brown hair is neatly piled over one shoulder, and when she heads in Stiles’s general direction, he has a mini freak-out, smoothing his palms over his thighs and straightening his jacket.

Eventually she reaches him, passing a waiter along the way and grabbing two crystal flutes of champagne. “Thirsty?” is the first thing she asks Stiles, and Stiles swallows with some difficulty.

“Yeah,” he says roughly. He takes the glass that she offers with a delicate hand and clears his throat before take a sip. He is disappointed to find it is ginger ale, not actual champagne. _Well, that is no fun_ , he thinks.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Jennifer says, leaning further into Stiles’s space.

“I don’t frequent these kind of events,” Stiles says evasively.

Jennifer hums, her arm slipping around his waist and fingers dancing around his hips. “What’s your name?”

“Cory,” Stiles says, “Cory Montgomery.”

“Police officer, huh?” Jennifer asks.

Her fingers have found the badge hooked to the back of his belt, and Stiles shifts until her hand is no longer touching it. “Maybe,” he says, knowing entirely well that she is too smart for his elusive responses.

Jennifer smirks devilishly, red lips curling coyly. “Carmine,” she says, holding out her hand, and Stiles hesitates before shaking it.

“What brings you here tonight, officer?” Jennifer continues.

“The benefit, of course.” From his peripherals, Stiles sees Matt draw closer, but he does not acknowledge him – not yet.

“Really,” Jennifer says, arching an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re looking to use those handcuffs of yours –”

“No, I’m really not –” Stiles says, trying to step back.

“I’ve been a rather bad girl,” Jennifer finishes as Matt arrives at her side.

“That’s unnecessary, Carmine,” Matt says, and Stiles flushes furiously. Matt gives Stiles a quick once over, then addresses him, saying, “You must be Mr. Montgomery.”

Stiles is taken aback. “Yes,” he says warily. “Have we ever met–?”

“Oh, of course not,” Matt says with an easy, broad smile. “I always know all my guests.” Before Stiles can comment on _that_ , Matt offers his hand. “Andrew Baylor.”

Stiles shakes his hand. “Cory Montgomery,” he says, “but I suppose you already know that.”

Matt laughs, and Stiles suppresses a shudder. Matt’s creeper laugh is downright _scary_. “I hope you enjoy the gala,” he tells Stiles. “Come, Carmine. We have places to be.” He wraps an arm around Jennifer’s shoulders and leads her away, but not before Jennifer can wink at Stiles. 

Stiles is about to turn away, already willing to down another glass of champagne, when he notices a ring that Matt is wearing. It is silver, inlaid with a rather impressive emerald. The gem has an insignia carved into it: a serpent strangling a wolf, surrounded by the words _Dieses Schloss, Diese Blutlinie_. The insignia is familiar, but not because the image belongs to Baylor Industries; no, the inscription belongs one of the most affluent and dangerous families in the city.

Stiles has work to do.

He makes his exit, and as he does, he glimpses, from the corner of his eye, Derek entering the room through the same door that Jennifer did. Stiles holds back a grin as his body shivers with excitement.

Things are about to get _intense_.

**_cut_.**

* * *

“I _swear_ that album is from 1992,” Matt says.

“No way,” Jennifer replies, dunking her biscotti into her coffee. “ _Achtung Baby_ was in ninety-one.”

“Jennifer is right,” Stiles says.

“No! It’s ninety-two!” Matt insists. “Come on, someone back me up here. Kira! Help me out!”

Kira giggles as Matt tries to give her puppy eyes. “I would, Matt, I really would,” she says, “but no one knows Irish bands like Jen does.”

“And I just know _everything_ ,” Stiles says, winking across the table at Derek. Derek rolls his eyes, and Stiles taps Derek’s ankle with his foot.

The five of them have the day off of filming, so they decided to meet at the coffee shop a block away from the hotel to just hang out. Derek recommended the place, stating that it was so tucked away that paparazzi never found it, and indeed, Stiles would have missed the quaint little business if Derek had not walked there with him.

“I am proving you wrong,” Matt says, digging his phone out of his pocket. “Does this place have wi-fi? Okay. I’m gonna prove you wrong.”

“If you’re right, Matt,” Jennifer says, “I’ll buy you one of those disgustingly gigantic cookies from the display case.”

“And I’ll get your next coffee for you,” Stiles adds.

“What if Matt is wrong?” Kira asks.

“I get to gloat,” Jennifer says with a laugh.

Stiles glances slyly at Derek. “If Matt is wrong,” he says, “then Derek gets to serenade me and Jennifer with the song of our choice.”

Everyone bursts out laughing, and Derek scowls. “Make Matt sing,” he grumbles. “I’m not involved in this.”

“But it’ll entertain me,” Stiles says teasingly.

“No,” Derek growls, but his eyes crinkle with amusement, and Stiles nudges his ankle again. Derek responds by kicking Stiles’s shin, and while the kick is not hard, Stiles still slams his knee on the underside of the table.

“Ow!” he yowls, and Jennifer snorts into her drink.

“I got it!” Matt shouts triumphantly. “U2 released their seventh album, _Achtung Baby_ , in nineteen-ninety … No! Ninety-one, dammit!”

Stiles crows and high-fives Jennifer across the table. Kira nudges Stiles in the ribs, and Stiles winks at her.

“Told you, Daehler,” Jennifer says with a smirk, and Matt drops his head into his hands.

“I swear it was ninety-two,” he groans, and Stiles laughs.

“So Jennifer,” he says, “What should we make Derek sing?”

“I am not singing in public,” Derek says.

“Fine. Stiles and I will collect later,” Jennifer says.

Derek grins. “Can’t wait.” He rises from their table, pulling out a few bills and leaving them next to his empty tea mug. “I’m gonna head out,” he says. “There’s a bookstore I’ve been meaning to swing by just down the street.”

“Want me to come with?” Stiles asks.

Derek nods. “Sure. Anyone else?”

Kira shakes her head. “I promised my parents I’d call them today.”

“Jen and I want to review some lines for tomorrow,” Matt says.

Derek turns back to Stiles. “Ready?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure thing.” Stiles leaves a few bills on the table, then follows Derek out of the cafe.

The bookstore is two blocks away. Derek seems completely confident about where he is going, so Stiles is content to follow him, tugging the collar of his jacket up further and his hat lower. “Have you been to this part of the city before?” he asks Derek.

Derek’s eyes remain fixed on some point ahead of them. “Several times,” he says. “I usually stay at this hotel when I’m filming here.”

Stiles nods. “Cool.”

They are silent for the rest of the walk, but it is a nice silence. It is odd for Stiles; usually, Stiles fills up any and all silences, even if he is just by himself. But sharing silence with Derek is … natural. It feels calming.

Derek pulls up at a wooden door painted bright red. He pulls it open, gesturing for Stiles to go first, and Stiles smirks. “What a gentleman,” he says, and Derek snorts.

The shop is quiet and smells like maple syrup. Stiles is about to crack a Canadian joke when he notices the corner of the room, where there is a small table set up with pretzel sticks and a pot. _Homemade Maple Syrup_ the sign above it reads, and Stiles is so distracted by his ensuing questions (where is the maple from? Is it possible to get the raw ingredients for maple syrup in the city? Does syrup even taste good with pretzel sticks?) that Derek has to tug on his sleeve to get his attention. Stiles jumps, and Derek grins in amusement. “I’m just going to browse, okay?”

Stiles nods. “Sounds good.”

Derek disappears down an aisle labelled fiction, and Stiles decides to amble around the store himself.

He finds himself in the self-help section. There is a small shelf for writing, and Stiles slides a book out at random. _The Screenwriter’s Bible_. Huh. Stiles sits down on the floor, back leaned against he shelf, opens to a random page, and begins to read.

He is interrupted sometime later by a tap on the shoulder. Jolting back to reality, he looks up to see Derek. Derek has a small stack of paperback novels in his hands – all used, by the looks of them.

“Man, you’re quick,” Stiles says.

Derek raises an eyebrow. “We’ve been here for nearly an hour.”

“What?” Stiles digs out his phone and checks the time. Hour indeed – and now that he is aware of it, Stiles realizes he has already demolished a good chunk of _The Screenwriter’s Bible_.

“Were you reading that the whole time?” Derek asks.

Stiles laughs self-consciously. “Yeah, guess I was.” He gets to his feet, shaking out his tingling limbs. “Think I have to get it now. It’s too engrossing.”

Derek snorts.

“What?”

“Engrossing. It’s a strange word.”

“Well – so is tintinnabulation,” Stiles splutters.

Derek actually laughs at that, shaking his head. “You’re incredible.”

“So what did you find?” Stiles asks as they go to the register.

“Just a few novels I’ve been meaning to read. And my cousin – she loves Shakespeare, and I found an edition of _Othello_ that I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have yet.”

“Your cousin collects Shakespeare?”

“Believe me, it’s one of the less weird collections in my family,” Derek says. He lays out the novels at the register, and Stiles catches sight of a familiar title.

“You got _The Idiot_?”

“Yeah. Have you read it?”

“No, but I performed it as a final project for a college acting course.”

“When did you start acting?”

“College, actually.”

They finish up in the store and then push back outdoors, heading back towards the hotel.

“Seriously? College?” Derek asks.

“Yeah. Why so surprised?”

Derek shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re very … natural. I just assumed acting is something you’ve always done.”

Stiles laughs. “Dude, no way. I never would have gotten involved if I hadn’t had an arts credit requirement.” He steals a glance at Derek; the other man is looking at him with a thoughtful expression, and Stiles quickly looks away again.

“How about you?” Stiles asks.

“Around high school,” Derek says vaguely.

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” Derek insists, but his ears turn red, and he refuses to look at Stiles.

“Come _on_ , Derek,” Stiles prods, elbowing Derek’s side. “Tell me. When was your first moment on the stage?”

Derek sighs. “Christmas pageant. I was eight.”

Stiles snorts. “Let me guess. Joseph?”

“No.”

“Yeah, you look too broody to be Joseph.”

Derek glares halfheartedly. “I do not brood.”

“You so do. _Seventeen_ magazine says so.”

Derek smirks. “You read _Seventeen_?”

“What? No!” Stiles quickly denies. “This isn’t even the subject of our conversation!”

“It is now –”

“No, no, it is not. We are talking about your _glory days_ in the Christmas pageant. Were you a wise man?”

“No.”

“You were a sheep!”

“God, Stiles, _no_.” Derek hesitates, then mumbles something too quiet for Stiles to hear.

“What’d you say?”

Derek huffs. “I was the head of the choir of angels.”

Stiles bursts out laughing, startling a woman who passes by them. “I bet you were fucking _adorable_ ,” he says, and Derek scowls, but he still leans into Stiles when Stiles bumps his shoulder.

They reach the hotel. Inside, Stiles impatiently tugs off his scarf. “I’m pretty sure Lydia is expecting me to call her,” he says sullenly. He loves to talk with Lydia, but he also loves being with Derek, and Derek is _here_. Lydia is still in her mansion in California. He almost wants – no, he definitely wants Derek to tell him to ditch the phone call and spend some more time with him.

But Derek just smiles understandingly. “I have to call my family, too. I’ll see you around?” he asks hopefully.

“Of course. Not like we’re filming a movie together or anything,” Stiles replies.

Derek grins and gives him a short nod before turning away, heading to the elevator bank, walking further and further away from Stiles.

* * *

It is a solid two months into filming before Derek has time to make a personal phone call to Laura. As much as Laura teases him and annoys the shit out of him, Derek has always felt the closest to her out of all his siblings. Whenever one of them is away from the ranch, they call each other constantly, often waiting eagerly to hear from one another. Sure enough, Laura picks up on the second ring and immediately shouts, “Der-Bear! How’s it going, pup?”

“Great, _monkey_ ,” Derek replies huffily, and he swears he can hear Laura roll her eyes.

“Sourpuss. But actually. How’s filming? How’s Vancouver?”

“Vancouver is cold, as always. But filming has been going great.”

“Tell me everything.”

So Derek launches into a long-winded recount of his past two months. He is not a talkative person by nature, and of the two of them, Laura is far more voluble, but during their phone calls, Laura always lets Derek do most of the talking. Childish as it may be, Derek sometimes feels more comfortable talking over the phone rather than face to face; it feels more like a verbal journal than a conversation, oftentimes.

He has spoken for nearly half an hour straight before Laura says something more than _uh-huh_ , _yeah_ , or _okay_. “You’ve really taken to Stiles, haven’t you?”

Derek halts mid-sentence and blinks. “Well, yeah,” he says. “He’s my costar.”

“I know that, dumbass,” Laura says. “I mean … _more_ than a costar.”

Derek shrugs though he knows she cannot see. “We’re friends,” he says simply.

“Uh-huh. _Friends_.”

“Why are you so determined to do … whatever it is you’re trying to do?” Derek grouses.

Laura laughs at his stumbling over his words. “I’m not trying to _say_ anything,” she says, “But to any casual observer, Stiles is very obviously attractive. He’s currently single, you get to see him every day, even get up-close and personal with him –”

“Laura –”

“You’ve spent the majority of the last thirty minutes talking about him –”

“Laura!”

Laura laughs heartily. “I’m just teasing, Der. But Mom and Dad would both approve –”

“Laura, I’m not getting into a relationship with another costar while filming.”

His comment finally shuts Laura up. There is silence on the line for a minute before she is brave enough to say, “Kate was a monster, okay? Not everyone you meet is secretly like her.”

Derek sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “I know,” he says. “I know. I just – sometimes, I have to remind myself. That. That not everyone is like her.”

“If anything, I think this Stilinski kid is the furtherest you could get from Kate,” Laura offers kindly.

Derek cannot help smiling wryly. “I’m sure he is, but I told you. I’m not looking for a relationship.”

Laura _hmm_ s disbelievingly. “Don’t be so sure,” she says with an air of superior knowledge. “You still have a few months with him. Things may change –”

“ _Laura_.”

Laura cackles, and Derek decides it is time to get some revenge. “So tell me about Doug,” he says cheerily. “I heard that he stayed over last weekend, and there were some interesting sounds coming from your bedroom –”

“Who told you?” Laura nearly shouts, and Derek laughs. “Was it Des? Or Caitlin? Caitlin is too young to know this type of stuff. No, it was Cora! That little _shit_ –”

Derek relaxes and sinks into the familiar sounds of Laura vehemently cussing out her younger sister. Sure, his family can get overwhelming at times, but he would not trade them for anything.

* * *

**_action_.**

Stiles slams open the front door. A quick glance around shows the kitchenette to be empty, so he stalks onward, mouth pressed into a thin line. The bedroom is also empty, but when Stiles glances out the window, he sees the darkly dressed figure sitting in the tiny backyard.

The screen door slaps against its wooden frame as it shuts behind Stiles. The sound is loud enough to catch attention, and Derek snaps out of his reverie, turning to Stiles.

“Cory?” he asks, sitting up with a confused knot in his brow. “How did you find –”

“Why did you lie?” Stiles interrupts.

Derek stiffens. “What?”

Stiles folds his arms over his chest in an attempt to still his fidgeting, but his fingers still end up drumming against his forearm. “I asked you if you were at the gala,” Stiles says. “You told me you weren’t.”

Derek’s frown deepens, but Stiles can see worry in his eyes. “I wasn’t there.”

“Stop lying to me!” Stiles explodes, flinging his arms wide. He wants to punch Derek, smack some sense into him, but he cannot bring himself to hurt Derek, so instead he starts pacing, curling and uncurling his fists.

Derek shifts again, looking as though he wants to reach out and grab Stiles. “Cory –”

“I know who you are!”

Derek freezes, eyes blown wide, and Stiles stops his pacing to kneel before him. He does not hesitate when he takes Derek’s hands, nor with his next words:

“You’ve known, this entire time, I’ve been on your side. The _Alpha’s_ side.” He pauses, waits until Derek looks him in the eye, and asks, “Why don’t you trust me?”

Derek inhales shakily. He has curved over while Stiles has curled in, and their faces hover mere inches from each other. Stiles can count each eyelash of Derek’s downcast eyes, and he has to remind himself not to get too lost in the moment. It helps when Derek finally builds up the courage to confess, “I’m scared of how much I trust you.”

“Hey,” Stiles says softly, releasing one of Derek’s hands in order to brush his thumb over the other man’s cheekbone. “Hey. You can trust me.”

And then, with a slight tilt of the head and a forward shift in space, Stiles presses his lips against Derek’s. He pulls back, after a second, because Derek is as solid and frozen as a statue beneath him. Stiles meets his gaze, and it looks like Derek is _drowning_ –

But in the next second one of Derek’s hands cups the nape of Stiles’s neck, and Derek draws Stiles into another kiss, this one longer and deeper and bleeding some kind of emotion everywhere, _everywhere_ , so Stiles just shuts his eyes and tries to give back everything that Derek is offering him and then some.

**_cut_.**

* * *

The day Lydia comes is the day all hell breaks loose.

Okay, that is an exaggeration. Hell did not break loose, or if it did, it was only in Stiles’s head.

The morning starts with Stiles nearly spilling his coffee all over himself because he forgets Lydia is visiting until he trips over her suitcase in the lobby. “Lydia!” he yelps, and she merely rolls her eyes, catches the hand holding his coffee, and kisses his cheek.

“Functional as you usually are, Stilinski,” she says drily, and Stiles grins goofily and pulls her into a one-armed hug.

After that first almost disastrous encounter, Stiles is on set for the entire morning. Lydia watches him film scenes with Braeden and with Derek and Kira, and then they take Stiles’s lunch break in a deli a few blocks from their filming location.

“You’re friendly with Kira,” Lydia says, spearing another piece of spinach with her fork.

“Mmmph mmph arrmph,” Stiles says through his sandwich.

Suffice to say, they do not talk much over lunch.

After lunch is another several hours of filming. Stiles shoots a couple physically demanding scenes with Jennifer and Matt (the reason behind him downing three sandwiches during lunch) and then another, more low-key one with Derek. After wrapping that, Stiles gives him a brief squeeze on the shoulder before chasing down Lydia and leading her to a Japanese restaurant. It is not until then that Stiles can let out a huge groan and slump over the table.

“I am so sorry,” he says to the table, “that I will not be good conversation tonight.”

Lydia snorts. “Get it together, Stiles,” she says, deftly picking up a piece of shumai with her chopsticks.

Stiles sighs and manages to prop his chin up on his hand. “Did you _see_ my scene this afternoon?” he asks rhetorically.

“I saw you get your ass handed to you several dozen times,” Lydia replies primly.

“Lydia. I hurt _everywhere_.”

Lydia smiles with halfhearted sympathy. “It looked good,” she offers.

Stiles grins lazily, eyes half-lidded with fatigue. “Thanks, Lyds.”

“So,” Lydia says. “Figure out everything with Derek?”

Stiles blinks a few times, trying to comprehend the meaning behind her question. “What? Figure out? We had nothing to figure out,” he says, straightening up.

Lydia arches an eyebrow. “You said you were nervous about filming with him. Remember?”

Oh. _That_. Stiles snorts and waves a hand. “Over that.” His eyes light up. “Did you see him, though? No wonder the dude is an Oscar winner. He’s _amazing_. I mean, I’ve worked with, like, Liam Neeson and Natalie Dormer. But Derek is something else – I don’t know, I can’t describe it. There’s just this, this _thing_ about him, when we’re in a scene together, it’s so easy to just _click_ with him, and you know some people hate how much I improvise, but Derek just takes it and rolls with it and adds stuff of his own –” He breaks off when he finally notices Lydia smirking. “What?”

“You’re rambling,” Lydia observes.

“And?” Stiles rambles and rants like no one else. Lydia already knows this. Why is her smile growing wider?

“I guess you aren’t too tired to talk about Derek,” Lydia says. She pops a piece of sushi into her mouth and raises an eyebrow, expression complacent.

Stiles’s jaw drops. “I don’t _like_ him!”

Lydia takes her time chewing and swallowing before tilting her head and replying. “I never said you did.” She pauses, then adds, “Do you?”

 _Oh, Lydia Martin, your mind is a beautiful and evil thing_ , Stiles thinks.

“No,” he says confidently.

Lydia levels him with her _Really, Stiles?_ look.

Stiles deflates. “Maybe,” he says. “And that’s as much as I’m admitting! Okay? Maybe. _Maybe_. Which could still mean no.”

Lydia settles back in her seat, but Stiles knows her too well. His answer will only satisfy her for so long. He prays it will last him until the end of filming, at least.

“Has Allison asked you to introduce her to Kira yet?” Lydia eventually asks, and Stiles shamelessly latches onto the subject change.

It does not stop his mind from wandering later that night, however, when he is alone in his hotel room. _Derek_. Derek Hale. Stiles considers trying to unravel the weird tangle of emotion in his gut that comes with the mere thought of the dark-haired man, but he is utterly exhausted. So, like an adult, Stiles stuffs his bundle of emotions into a box in the back of his mind, and falls asleep to images of hazel-blue-green-brown eyes dancing behind his own eyelids.

* * *

There is only about four weeks left of filming when Stiles bursts onto the rooftop again. “I feel like I’m about to vomit,” he blurts out.

The silhouette sitting at the edge of the roof turns, and thank God it is Derek, or else this would have gotten embarrassing and awkward _really_ fast.

“You’re not drunk, are you?” Derek asks suspiciously.

“No! No. It’s just –” Stiles cuts off, makes a noise of frustration, and starts to pace.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks with concern this time. He begins to get up, and Stiles waves him off.

“I –” A strangled laugh hops out of Stiles’s throat. “I’m nervous again.”

“About what?”

 _About tomorrow_ , Stiles thinks but does not say.

Tomorrow they are filming the sex scene.

That is not something he can just _tell_ Derek he is nervous about. God, what would Derek think if Stiles did that? It is not like Stiles has never _done_ a sex scene before. Of course he has; some of them were even notably risqué. But it is safe to say that Stiles has never filmed a sex scene with another man, and he has certainly never filmed one with _Derek Hale_.

Derek, who drives him insane on a regular basis with his dry humor, his crazily colored eyes and soft-looking hair. Derek, who is hardworking and diligent but still passionate.

Derek, who is looking at Stiles like he has gone insane.

Stiles swallows and stops pacing. He sits down next to Derek. “I’m okay.”

“Really?” Derek asks skeptically.

Stiles glares at him. “Yes, _really_.” He looks down at the steady line of cars weaving leisurely through the streets. “I will be, anyway.” Stiles can swallow down panic. He has gotten really good at that. Too good, almost, to the point when he sometimes represses his emotions too much.

“Okay.”

Stiles blows out a breath. It is slightly visible in the night air, if he looks at the right angle. “Distract me,” he says suddenly.

Derek turns to him. “What?”

“Distract me,” Stiles repeats, aimlessly waving a hand. “Tell me a story. Share your deep, philosophical rooftop thoughts. Do a handstand.”

Derek snorts. “A handstand?”

“I don’t know. _Something_. Wait, _can_ you do a handstand?”

Derek nods, lips twitching like they want to curl upwards.

“Seriously? Dude! How’d you learn?”

“My sister, Cora,” Derek says. “She’s – well, now she’s a personal trainer. She works at a gym near my parents’ house, teaches a few classes. But growing up, she was always active, extremely athletic. She took gymnastics and kickboxing, even some dance classes before she switched to wrestling. Sometimes she’ll bring me to her classes. She claims it’s because her students need a live example, but really, she probably just uses it as an excuse to kick the crap out of me…”

Stiles loses himself in the soothing cadence of Derek’s voice. Derek’s family is _huge_ ; he has four siblings and even more cousins, and Stiles listens as Derek tells stories about each and every one of them. Stiles lets himself sink into Derek’s side, and Derek merely adjusts his arm so Stiles can rest his back against it. Eventually – it has probably been around an hour or maybe even two – Derek trails off, and they let the silence fall.

If it were not for the temperature, Stiles would already be fast asleep. Derek’s presence is just _comforting_ , a steady and strong source of heat accompanied by a gentle, slightly rough voice. Stiles wants to burrow into Derek’s side, but that would be incredibly childish, and sometimes Stiles _does_ act like an adult.

“I like your family,” Stiles says.

Derek snorts. “They’re a handful. And that’s putting it lightly.”

“They still sound awesome.” Stiles stifles a yawn. “Hey – I promise you, one day, I’ll tell you my own life story. ‘Kay?”

Derek chuckles, and a warmth blossoms in Stiles’s chest. “We should head in,” he says, “Before you pass out and fall off this building.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Stiles says lethargically.

He staggers to his feet, Derek holding his hips to ensure Stiles does not pitch over and fall to a nasty, splattery death on a Canadian sidewalk. Once Stiles is up, he offers his hand to Derek, and Derek takes it, though he does not actually use it to haul himself up. Their fingers remain intertwined until they reach the door of the roof access, and Derek opens it for him, ushering Stiles in with a hand on the small of Stiles’s back.

“Thanks, man,” Stiles says before they part for their separate rooms.

“It’s no problem,” Derek says, smiling softly.

It suddenly strikes Stiles that if he just swayed forward and tilted his head a bit, he could be kissing Derek. When _that_ thought is immediately approved, Stiles blinks rapidly. His exhausted, sleep-deprived brain is typically _awful_ at making decisions. Kissing Derek, here and now, would be one of those awful decisions.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Stiles says instead.

Derek nods. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

When Stiles gets to his room, he strips down and falls straight into bed. He is out like a light, and his dreams are hazy, but filled with warmth and a soothing voice.

* * *

**_action_.**

The bedroom is small. It barely fits a bed and a dresser, and between the two, there is hardly any room to stand. The colors are all simple and muted: soft browns and worn blues, with some splashes of white and black. Derek sits on the edge of the bed, turning a set of keys over in his hand.

The door opens, and Derek looks up. Stiles is in the doorway, hovering uncertainly. “Can I come in?” he asks. Derek nods, and Stiles comes in, closing the door behind him. “What are you thinking about?” Stiles asks.

Derek’s gaze flickers away from Stiles. “Nothing important.”

Stiles’s hands catch his own, stilling Derek’s fidgeting. He takes the keys from Derek, places them on the dresser, and then moves to stand between Derek’s legs.

They stare into each other’s eyes. At first glance, it is easy to think Stiles has brown eyes, but in the light – especially the light of the sunset, streaming in from the window behind Derek – they are a beautiful golden color. Amber, like an expensive whiskey, or maple syrup in a glass. Derek carefully places his hands on Stiles’s hips, and one of Stiles’s own hands curls at the base of Derek’s neck. Stiles’s eyes flicker over Derek’s face, meet Derek’s eyes once more, and then Stiles curves over to kiss Derek.

The kiss is short, but the one that follows it is slow and languorous. Derek’s hands rub up and down Stiles’s sides, slowly rucking up his shirt so Derek can press his fingers into the warm skin on the small of Stiles’s back. Stiles shivers almost imperceptibly, but when Derek is this close to him, it is impossible to miss.

Stiles’s hands drift down, and their lips part just long enough for Stiles to take off Derek’s shirt. Derek takes this as his cue to scoot back and lie down, his hands encouraging Stiles to follow him down. In another few seconds, another couple kisses, Derek tugs off Stiles’s shirt, dropping it over the side of the bed.

Stiles twists and mouths behind Derek’s ear, tracing a line of short, openmouthed kisses down the underside of Derek’s jaw. Derek sighs, reveling in the warmth of Stiles’s chest pressed against his own. Stiles huffs against Derek’s skin, and when he presses a kiss as low as Derek’s sternum, Derek carefully rolls and flips their positions.

Blood suddenly rushes to Derek’s head, and he has to pull back for a moment. Stiles spreads out underneath him, utterly unconcerned, his cheeks flushed a pretty shade of red. Derek swallows, licking his lips, and he can hear his pulse thundering in his head. Before he can even think about the consequences, he says softly, “Do you trust me?”

And Stiles – beautiful, wonderful, _brilliant_ Stiles – takes it right into stride and replies without missing a beat, “With my entire being.”

Derek stares into those dazzling amber eyes, and holy _shit_ , his heart has never beat this fast before in a take. With an internal jolt, Derek realizes this is real emotion. This is not Ryder; this is Derek, and before Derek can start thinking about all the frightening implications of that, he dips back down to recapture Stiles’s lips with a new sense of urgency.

Stiles responds in kind, hands coming up to cradle Derek’s jaw. Derek helps Stiles out of his jeans, and when his hands fumble a bit, Stiles just smiles, laughing quietly against Derek’s lips. Derek kisses his smile, then moves his lips to Stiles’s neck. His hand slowly crawls up Stiles’s arm until he intertwines their fingers on the mattress above their heads. 

Stiles sighs contentedly, and Derek shuts his eyes, pressing one more reverent kiss to Stiles’s pale skin. It feels like Derek is breaking apart inside, and he wants to preserve this feeling of him and Stiles for as long as it lasts.

**_cut_.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Das Schloss, Dieeses Blutlinie" is (supposed) to be "This Castle, This Bloodline" in German. If you know German more than I do (an easy feat; I know nothing) and Google Translate lied to me, please feel free to tell me, and I'll correct it immediately.
> 
> EDIT: "This Castle, This Bloodline" in German is actually "Dieses Schloss, Diese Blutlinie" – thank you Faith_Mars for the correction!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you know that the writers of Friends considered making Chandler gay?” Stiles asks Lydia through a mouthful of pretzels.
> 
> “Are you watching Friends or are you on Buzzfeed?”
> 
> Stiles looks up from his laptop screen to see Monica walking into Chandler’s apartment with a turkey on her head. “Both,” he tells Lydia warily, and Lydia sighs heavily.
> 
> “You’re moping,” she says sadly.

Derek stares out the window as the phone rings, bracing himself for what is to come. He loves his family, he really does, but surviving a phone call home is always a struggle, especially after a long day of shooting. Derek debates whether or not he should venture out to grab a mug of tea, but he is interrupted by someone picking up the line.

“This is Talia Hale of Hale Ranch. May I ask who is calling?’

Derek inhales deeply. “Hi, Mom.”

“Derek! How are – hold on, pup, I’m putting you on speaker.”

Derek suppresses a groan. He is thirty-five years old, and his mother insists upon using her affectionate childhood nickname for him. At least Laura still gets called monkey.

After a minute of mumbling to herself, his mother says, “Say hi to everyone, Derek.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“Me!” someone shouts, and that is definitely Caitlin.

“Caitlin, why aren’t you in school?”

“Long weekend, brother dear,” Caitlin says smugly.

“How is shooting?” another voice asks, and Derek cannot tell which of his other sisters it is.

“Can you please tell me who else is there?” Derek asks. Being put on speaker with his family is headache inducing, but this way, he does not have to have repeat conversations. In any case, causing headaches and chaos is a general Hale family trait.

“I’m here, and so is Caitlin,” his mother says, “and Laura, Cora, Puck, and … oh, Liam just left. I think I hear Logan crying.”

“Did I wake him?” Derek asks worriedly.

“Probably,” Puck says unconcernedly.

“How is shooting?” someone repeats, and this time Derek recognizes Cora’s voice.

“It’s good,” he answers. “Real good. The cast and crew are great. Stiles is great.”

“Have you seen him shirtless yet?” Cora asks.

Derek rolls his eyes as Caitlin says, “God, Cora, there’s more to a guy than his abs –”

“Not really –

“Girls,” Derek’s mother cuts in, “Really? We’ve had this argument before.”

“How’s Jennifer doing?” Laura asks.

“She’s doing well,” Derek says. “She says she’s spending a lot of time in Ireland.”

“Oh, that’s right, she married that soccer player,” his mother says.

“The Irish one?” Puck asks.

“Yes, Puck, that’s why they’re in _Ireland_ ,” Laura says.

“I bet he has better abs than Derek,” Cora says.

“You’re not my trainer,” Derek says, pouting childishly. “You have no right to talk about the condition of my abs.”

“I’m your sister!”

“I have Boyd to do that.”

Cora scoffs. “Boyd is a softie.”

“I’m telling Erica you said that!” Caitlin shouts.

“Erica would probably agree,” Laura observes, and Derek laughs.

“How long until you’re done?” Puck asks.

“Just a month,” Derek says. “We’re nearly done with shooting.” Derek is strangely sad about it. Of course he wants to wrap up so the movie can move forward on schedule, but he is going to miss this group of people. He has grown close to them over the course of the winter. He is going to miss Stiles.

Stiles, who is no longer afraid of crowding into Derek’s personal space. Stiles, who never stops talking or laughing or moving. Stiles, Derek’s brilliant and captivating costar.

“Derek?” His mother asks. “Pup? – Laura, did the signal cut out –”

“No, I’m still here. Sorry.”

“Derek is getting nostalgic,” Puck says. Derek can perfectly picture the taunting smirk Puck inherited from Peter.

“No, I’m not,” Derek protest weakly.

“I think he is bemoaning the fact he’ll no longer get to see a certain someone after filming ends,” Laura suggests.

“ _Laura!_ ” Derek chokes.

“I never said his name,” Laura singsongs.

There is a collective rise of _ooh_ s, and Derek drags a hand over his face. “Laura, I’m going to kill you,” he mutters.

“Derek has a crush?” Caitlin demands.

“Laura! Why didn’t you tell me?” Cora demands.

“I do not have a crush!” Derek says and feels incredibly adolescent for doing so. Crush? He is thirty-five, dammit. Having a crush sounds so … _juvenile_.

“You’re going to miss Stiles, aren’t you, pup,” his mother said sympathetically.

“I’m going to miss all of them equally,” Derek stubbornly insists.

“But Stiles most of all,” Cora adds.

“Oh, lay off of him,” Puck says. Derek is about to thank his cousin when Puck continues, “There’s only one _real_ question here. Is he a good kisser?”

“Dammit, Alexander!” Derek shouts as his sisters burst out laughing.

“Derek has a _crush_ ,” Cora squeals.

“Okay, that’s enough teasing for one phone call,” his mother says. “Give me the phone – Laura, could you take it off speaker? I can never get it –”

Someone makes obnoxious kissing noises into the receiver, and Derek’s cheeks flush. God, his family.

“Okay, pup. Worst part’s over,” his mother says.

“Calling home is like diving headfirst into a battlefield,” Derek says.

“You’ve done that in one of your movies, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Derek begrudgingly laughs. “Yeah, I did.”

“When you’re done filming, are you going to come here or LA?”

“I’ll come home.”

“You know, you can bring some _friends_ if you want –”

“Thanks, Mom, but you’ll have to settle for just me.”

There is a short silence, and Derek can imagine his mother pursing her lips, eyebrows lowering in contemplation. “You know, honey,” she eventually says, “your father and I will always stand by you. I know the media is still learning to be open-minded, but –”

“Mom,” Derek interrupts, exasperated, “I know. And I’m grateful. But there’s … there’s nothing going on here.”

“Okay, pup. If you’re sure.”

Derek glances at the clock. As always, his call has gone on far longer than he expected. “I’ll see you in a month, okay?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, and can you tell Des I found a new edition of _Othello_ for her?”

“I’ll let her know.”

Derek smiles softly. “Bye, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you too, pup. Sleep well.”

Derek hangs up. He plugs his phone in to charge, stumbles into bed, and is asleep in less than a minute.

* * *

**_action_.**

Derek loves sunrises, the way the sky changes colors shade by shade, in increments nearly indiscernible to the human eye. Sunrises are awakening, revelation, a  new beginning. Of course, having a sunrise right now is extremely symbolic, but hey, Derek is in the entertainment business. People love a cliché little symbol every now and then.

Derek is standing alone on the edge of this rooftop. It is the tallest building on the outskirts of the city, so he can see the buildings as they gradually catch the rays of the sun; first a rosy pink, then an orange that quickly blends into a golden yellow. This is the city that he has protected for many years; this is the city that he finally, _finally_ leaves behind today.

“It’ll be okay, you know.”

Kira comes to stand next to Derek, and he looks at her from the corner of his eye. She is wearing simple civilian’s clothes with ordinary brown boots and her hair hanging loose around her shoulders. She looks ordinary, just how she should. There is no more hacking in her future; no more helping the government by working against the government; no more worrying about Derek’s safety every time he throws himself in the path of danger under the guise of the Alpha.

“I know,” he says. The threat of Baylor Industries and its corrupt head are gone; the mayor and the police are back in control, as they should be. Derek’s work here is done; his time here is done.

Kira smiles at him, and Derek wraps her in a brief hug. She squeezes his arm tightly before leaving him alone and the edge of the roof.

However, he is not left alone for long; another person takes Kira’s place. Derek refuses to look; he knows it is Stiles, but Derek keeps his gaze fixed on the city.

“She’ll be okay,” Stiles says, squinting into the sunrise.

Derek merely nods, and Stiles turns to regard his profile. After a moment, Stiles asks, “Will you be okay?”

Derek hesitates, then nods again. He reaches over to grab Stiles’s hand, and Stiles laces their fingers together, gently rubbing his thumb over Derek’s skin.

They stand in silence for several long minutes. At the same time, Derek knows that Kira is loading a solitary suitcase into his old convertible. That car belongs to her, now, and she is going to take the driver’s seat and drive right out of this city to God-knows-where. Somewhere not here; somewhere she can start over, rebuild a life as a regular young adult.

As Kira leaves behind the city, Braeden is unlocking the door to her office. She pushes open the door and hobbles in on her forearm crutches before shutting the door behind her. As weak as she looks, injured and unable to even stand on her own, there is still a hardness and a determination burning in her eyes. She picks up the open file on her desk and flicks through it; there are photos and written documents of events dating as far back as the Styles mansion fire, over ten years ago. The final picture is of Derek’s unmasked face, a photo taken of him entering the Baylor Industries gala.

Across the city, an airplane pilot boards a small, empty plane. He goes the cockpit and opens up a virtual map. A single destination is already blinking red on the screen: Capri, Italy.

On the rooftop, Stiles says, “I’ll miss the city.”

Derek thinks about everything that has happened in the last few months – not just in Ryder’s life, but in his own. He glances at the man next to him, the man he has grown irrevocably fond of and close to. He realizes, though, he would not change the experience for anything different.

“So will I,” Derek says. “But it’s time to move on.”

Back in the police station, Braeden shuts the file. The front of it reads _ALPHA_ in solid black letters, and the label remains visible even as Braeden tosses it in the trash bin. With steady fingers, Braeden lights a match, then throws it in the bin. She watches with something like relief, like _release_ , as the file and all its evidence curls in the flames and burns to ashes.

The sun has nearly risen now. The rooftop itself is bathed in golden light. Stiles leans ever so subtly into Derek’s side, and Derek impulsively raises their intwined hands to kiss the back of Stiles’s hand. Stiles smiles softly at him, eyes sparkling beautifully in the early light, and says, “We have a plane to catch.”

Derek nods silently. He looks at the city one last time – his city – before turning away. Stiles turns with him, squeezes his hand, and with one last smile – that daring, mischievous, dazzling smile – he tugs Derek away, away from the ledge of the roof and to his new future. And Derek knows, to his very core –

He will follow this man anywhere. 

**_cut_.**

* * *

It has been two weeks since filming ended, and Stiles is on the phone with Lydia. “Did you know that the writers of _Friends_ considered making Chandler gay?” he asks through a mouthful of pretzels.

“Are you watching _Friends_ or are you on Buzzfeed?”

Stiles looks up from his laptop screen to see Monica walking into Chandler’s apartment with a turkey on her head. “Both,” he tells Lydia warily, and Lydia sighs heavily.

“You’re moping,” she says sadly.

“I am _not_ moping!”

“You only ever marathon _Friends_ when you’re moping.”

“But Chandler and Monica,” Stiles whimpers. “ _Jennifer Aniston_.”

Lydia sighs again. “You need an intervention.”

“No, I don’t –”

“Too late.”

Sure enough, ten seconds later, the door to Stiles’s apartment slams open. “ _Stiiiiles!_ ” he hears Scott shout, followed by a similar call from Allison, and Stiles groans, burrowing down in his blanket until his head in barely visible.

“How did you do that?” he whispers into his phone. “They live _ten blocks_ away.”

“I may have anticipated this entire situation and called them before I called you.”

“You are an evil and terrible person,” Stiles says even as Allison lifts his laptop from his chest and Scott whips off his blanket. “Hey! I was using that!” he tells Scott.

Allison shakes her head at the TV screen. “We’ve let this go on too long,” she says somberly, and Scott nods in agreement, leveling Stiles with a stern look.

“No, you haven’t,” Stiles says, struggling into an upright position, “because there’s nothing going on.” Pretzel crumbs fall from his chest, and God, he must make a really pathetic picture right now.

“You’re _never_ this bad after you finish filming,” Scott argues while Allison steals Stiles’s phone and puts Lydia on speaker.

“Seriously, guys, I’m _fine_ ,” Stiles insists.

“No, you’re not. You’re missing someone,” Lydia says.

Stiles slumps. “Okay, yes, I miss everyone more than I usually do,” he admits. “But that’s it! I miss everyone equally, the same amount. Not any person in particular.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Allison observes at the same time Scott says, “It’s Derek, isn’t it?”

“What?” Stiles splutters as Allison and Scott share a grave look before looking back at Stiles. “That – that’s preposterous,” Stiles says.

“Honey, you can admit it now,” Lydia says. “Shooting is over.”

Stiles folds his arms over his chest, and Allison says to Lydia, “He’s refusing to say anything.”

“Then that’s his problem. I’m his agent and publicist, not his therapist. Allison, Scott, make sure he sees some sunlight. I don’t want to see him wither up and die.”

“I am not a delicate flower!” Stiles interjects, but Allison ignores his protests as she says goodbye to Lydia and hangs up the phone.

“It’s okay, Stiles. No one thinks you’re a flower,” Scott says with utter sincerity. “Now get up and shower. We’re going out.”

Stiles groans and contemplates burying his face in his pillows. “I don’t want to do a public outing.”

“We’re not doing a _public outing_ ,” Allison says with an eye roll. “We’re going to Dominos, where we will eat crappy, greasy pizza and wash it down with unsafe amounts of fountain soda. Okay? Then we can come back here, and Scott and I will help you finish _Friends_. Sound good?”

Stiles looks between his two friends’ twin looks of concerned determination and gives in. “Sounds good,” he echoes, then flops down in his pillows.

“No! Up! _Up!_ ” Scott shouts, pulling on Stiles’s arm until he falls off the bed. Stiles yowls and tackles Scott, and the whole thing devolves into a screech-filled wrestling match while Allison laughs and documents it on her phone.

* * *

“I hate it when you’re a morose sad sack,” Cora says.

Derek grunts. His concentration is mainly focused on his body right now – yoga is _hard_ – and Cora’s effortless handstand scorpion is not helping his mood.

At least Puck is not doing any better. His cousin gave up a while ago, and is instead sacked out on his yoga mat, his eyes shut as his chest heaves. “Derek is always a sad sack,” Puck says between breaths.

“Asshole,” Derek says.

“Dickhead.”

“Losers,” Cora huffs and gracefully unfolds herself, landing on her feet.

Laura appears in the doorway. “Who chose Bon Iver?” she asks, pulling a face.

“Derek,” Puck and Cora say simultaneously in an accusing voice.

“Is he being a sad sack?” Laura asks knowingly, taking the empty mat next to Derek.

“Would you please stop calling me that?” Derek snaps. “I’m fine, okay? I am not a sad sack.”

“You only listen to Bon Iver when you’re miserable,” Cora says.

“Bon Iver deserves much better than that,” Laura says.

“Agreed,” Puck mumbles.

Derek scowls. He gives up on his cobra and flops down, imitating Puck. “I miss filming,” he tells the ceiling.

“Do you have any upcoming projects?” Laura asks. She watches her younger sister with rapt attention as Cora twists herself into another type of pretzel that Derek cannot remember the name of.

“Nothing right now,” Derek answers miserably. God, he is going to be bored as hell until _A Little Push_ premiers.

“Nothing to distract you from Stiles, huh,” Cora says, upside down again.

“Nothing,” Derek agrees, then freezes. “What?”

Laura snickers, and Cora smirks triumphantly. Puck opens one eye to glare at Derek. “I’m disappointed in you, cousin,” he says. “They didn’t even have to try.”

This is the family Derek has to deal with. “What does it matter?” he asks petulantly. “Stiles is in LA.”

All three of his relatives turn to level him with a flat look. Derek shifts uncomfortably, and Cora finally says, “Derek. You _have an apartment in LA_.”

“I know, but – but what if he doesn’t want to see me?”

Laura pats his arm sympathetically and says tenderly, “Then he’s a fucking idiot.”

“He’s not an idiot,” Derek says. “And I told Mom I’d stay here for a while.”

Puck snorts. “Derek, you are long past the age when you can say no to your mother.”

“What is Derek going to say no to?”

Talia Hale appears in the doorway, and before Derek can say anything for himself, Laura says, “Derek needs to go to LA.”

“He’s pining, Mom,” Cora says. “It’s gross and needs to stop.”

“I am not pining!” Derek protests.

Talia smirks. “Of course not, honey,” she says. “You’re just moping around the house, listening to your sad music and wearing sweatpants all the time.”

“I forgot about the sweatpants,” Puck says, amused. 

Derek’s cheeks flame up. “Mom!” he whines like the child he certainly is not.

Talia enters the room and kneels next to Derek. “Cora, the music,” she says, and Cora, showoff that she is, uses her toe to reach over and shut it off. Talia smooths Derek’s hair back from his forehead. “Now, pup,” Talia says, “Let’s get you sorted out.”

“There’s nothing to sort out –”

“While your father and I love to have you at home,” Talia plows over Derek, “you clearly have not been enjoying yourself. So if it takes your chasing after this boy to LA –”

“Mom –”

“ _Mom, I’m not chasing him_ ,” Cora says in a terrible imitation of Derek.

“Cora,” Talia says sharply. She turns back to Derek, who is now sitting up halfway. “Go on, honey,” Talia says with a soft, encouraging smile. “We have you for the rest of our lives. We can spare you for another few months.”

Derek inhales deeply, overcome with the sudden urge to hug his mother and bury his head into her stomach. But his sisters and his cousin are in the room, so he settles for saying a breathless, “Thanks,” before hopping up and dashing upstairs to pack his bags.

* * *

Stiles starts taking _The Screenwriter’s Bible_ everywhere he goes. If it is partly for sentimental reasons (Stiles bought this book with _Derek_ ), no one has to know, and besides, it is interesting. Stiles has always been intrigued by screenwriting; it was actually the only reason he started acting. He had picked up a screenwriting and acting course in college to fill certain graduation requirements, and everything after that … just sort of fell into place.

But that was seven – God, _seven_ – years ago, and screenwriting has always been in the back of Stiles’s mind. Since finding the _Bible_ and filming _A Little Push_ , Stiles has taken to writing down the ideas he gets, no matter how big or small or vague they are, in whatever notebook or pad he has at hand. 

As organized as he is (read: not at all), Stiles has about five or six different ones going at once, and between those and the _Bible_ , Stiles has taken to carrying around a backpack again – the very same one he used in college.

Ah, nostalgia.

Today Stiles is spread out at a coffee shop near his apartment. Stiles comes here frequently enough that he has charmed the staff into keeping his visits a secret from the public, so if he hangs out in the back, Stiles can stay here for hours and go completely unnoticed. Stiles has his backpack, several notebooks, his laptop, and the _Bible_ open in front of him along with his … fourth cup of coffee? He has lost track. 

Stiles has been listening to music this entire time, but he takes his earphones out so he can go back to the front of the shop and buy something to munch on. This is the moment, then, that he hears a voice that he has not heard for at least a month –

“– yes, we finished filming recently. It’s in post-production now.”

Stiles sprints around the corner and nearly skids into a potted plant. “Derek?”

The girl behind the counter yelps in surprise. The man in front of her whips around and – God, it is _Derek_.

Seeing Derek again is like a dream. He is not wearing anything extraordinary, just a t-shirt and jeans, but his skin is darker and his stubble is longer. That combination makes his eyes stand out all the more, and Stiles did not even know that he could miss someone’s eyes until now. 

Stiles is a complete goner.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, expression saying he cannot quite believe what he sees.

“I – yeah!” Stiles holds out his hand, figuring a hug might be too much, but to his surprise Derek takes his hand to pull him _into_ one. Stiles pats the other man’s back a few times and asks, “What are you doing down here? I thought you were at your parents’?”

For some reason Derek’s cheeks flush, but he still answers. “I was, but my family … I decided to come to LA.”

“Family kick you out?” Stiles asks teasingly.

Derek grins. “Something like that.”

The girl at the counter clears her throat. “Uh, Mr. Hale? Your tea and salad.”

Derek jumps slightly before turning and paying. While he collects his things, the girl – Hailey, her tag says – turns to Stiles. “Would you like anything, Stiles?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll take a muffin.”

Stiles takes it from her with a smile, and she writes it down on the piece of paper that has everything else Stiles has consumed today. He has been there for several hours, okay?

“Hey – do you want to sit down with me?” Stiles asks Derek.

Derek grins. “Sure.”

It takes a little to clear off enough space for Derek to sit, but in the end they manage, and Stiles forgets his muffin in the face of conversation. “How have you been?” he asks.

“Honestly? Bored,” Derek replies.

“Me too, man,” Stiles says. “I don’t have anything going on for a while – not until after our movie premiers.”

“Same. I’ve been wandering around the city the last few days. I’ve forgotten how much I like LA.”

“Has it been a while since you visited?”

Derek nods. “I’ve been spending a lot of time at my parents’ place. They can always use help at the ranch, and Liam has a newborn, and Laura – I’m pretty sure she’s going to get engaged soon.”

“Really? That’s great!”

Derek smiles and takes a sip of tea. “How have you been doing?”

 _Pining and crying over Rachel and Ross_ , Stiles thinks but does not say. “Hanging out around home, mostly,” he says. “My buddy Scott and his girlfriend live nearby, and I’ve been meaning to visit my dad, but he’s weirdly insistent that I stay here until after the premier.” Come to think of it, Lydia probably talked to him. Stiles’s dad always had a soft spot for Lydia, and if Lydia has come up with some giant scheme –

“Have you met Lydia?” Stiles blurts out.

Derek blinks. “She visited Vancouver. She’s the redhead, yes?”

“Strawberry blonde,” Stiles automatically corrects. “I mean. Have you talked to her?”

“No.” Derek’s expression turns amused. “Should I have?”

“No. I mean! You could have, if you wanted to. And I think you’d totally be friends, you know? You should be friends. She and her husband and her kid are coming down in about a month, if you’d like to meet them.” Stiles winces when his mouth finally listens to his brain and _shuts up_.

But Derek only seems more amused. “I’d love to meet your friends.”

Stiles snorts. Jackson, his friend. Still cannot quite believe it.

Derek thumbs the pages of one of Stiles’s many notebooks. “What’s this?” he asks.

“Uh, just some screenwriting … stuff,” Stiles says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Derek’s entire face lights up. “You screenwrite?”

“Not really? I mean, I’ve always been interested, and I’ve had a few ideas floating around –”

“Tell me.”

“What?”

“Tell me your ideas.”

Stiles stares at him for a moment, but Derek’s honest enthusiasm does not falter. “Promise you won’t laugh at me?” Stiles asks.

“Promise.”

Stiles puts a finger on the notebook Derek is touching. “Okay. Get this. _Werewolves_.”

And Derek just nods with such utter seriousness that Stiles cannot help bursting into laughter before he launches into one of his many insane, crazy ideas that he stumbled upon while sleep-deprived in a hotel in Vancouver.

* * *

Four hours later, Stiles is unlocking the door to his apartment with Derek hovering over his shoulder. “Just so I can say you’ve been forewarned,” Stiles says, “my apartment is more likely than not a complete mess right now.”

He pushes the door open, and Derek snorts. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Dude!”

It is not too bad, actually. His couch pillows are strewn everywhere from wrestling with Scott a few days ago, and a cereal bowl from this morning is on the coffee table, but there is not any trash or dirty clothing lying about, so Stiles deems it passable. Derek wanders in, looking about with extreme interest, as Stiles closes and locks the door.

“Meet your expectations?” Stiles asks teasingly.

“I was expecting some more Star Wars posters.”

Stiles pauses, eyes narrowing. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

Derek does not reply, just shoots Stiles a smile, and Stiles shoves the other man’s shoulder. Derek leans away but then gravitates right back, pressing his shoulder into Stiles.

“Do want something to eat?” Stiles asks.

Derek shakes his head. “Pretty sure I overate at that cafe.”

Stiles snorts. “I always end up doing that. It drives my trainer insane.”

They somehow end up on the couch with the television turned to _Seinfeld_ reruns. They keep the volume low, though, so they can continue to converse.

“Lydia has been sending Scott and Allison over nearly everyday,” Stiles says. “Lydia’s convinced I’ve been _moping_ – whatever the hell that means – so Scott and Allison drag me around the city or help me get shitfaced while watching B-list movies.”

Derek looks down at Stiles’s feet. “You know how you said my family kicked me out?”

“Oh, God,” Stiles says, sitting up, “Did they really?”

“No! Not really. I mean, I decided to go myself, but … “ The rest of his sentence is lost in a mumble.

“Didn’t quite catch that.”

“They kept calling me a sad sack.”

Stiles laughs. “You? A sad sack? I’d love to see that.”

Derek actually _cringes_. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

Stiles nudges Derek, then turns serious again. “What had you down?”

If possible, Derek stares at Stiles’s feet even harder. “I missed someone.”

Stiles’s mouth goes dry. If this is going where he thinks it is going … yeah, he thinks it is going there. He is going to take the risk.

“To be honest, so was I,” Stiles says, lightly taking one of Derek’s hands with his own.

Derek finally looks up again, eyebrows crinkling with hesitation. “You were missing someone?”

“I was missing you. _Doofus_.”

Derek laughs. He sounds relieved, and all the tension suddenly washes away, leaving Derek and Stiles to naturally drawn closer together, bodies creating a small cave of space between them.

“Are you five years old?” Derek asks.

“Not at all,” Stiles answers, “Although I still occasionally make pillow-forts with Scott.”

Falling into a kiss feels as easy as breathing. Derek’s lips are familiar beneath Stiles’s own, and for the first time, Stiles can let himself really sink into the sensation of it. Derek’s body, warm and alive and humming beneath his fingertips, fits right into Stiles. His t-shirt is soft to the touch and the skin of his lower back even softer. Their tongues slide against each other, wet and soft but hungry, and _wow_ , this was a long time coming. Stiles wonders how he ever doubted the chemistry between himself and Derek, because it is undeniable.

After a couple minutes they pull apart, breathing heavier with flushed cheeks. Derek presses a reverent little kiss to Stiles’s chin, and it is all Stiles can do to not melt on the spot. Stiles’s pants are beginning to feel a bit tight, and when he experimentally rubs up a bit against Derek’s hip, Derek gasps softly and nips at Stiles’s skin.

“Want to move somewhere more comfortable?” Stiles asks.

“Where do you suggest?” Derek replies.

“Bedroom?”

“Lead the way.”

But before Stiles can move, Derek stands and lifts Stiles right off the couch. Stiles laughs and wraps his legs around Derek’s waist, squirming a bit when Derek drags his nose across Stiles’s collarbone. “Down the hall,” Stiles says, and Derek carries him all the way to the bedroom, where they spend the better part of the next several hours wrapped up in Stiles’s sheets and each other.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fuck, I’m nervous,” Stiles admits when they are five minutes away from their destination.
> 
> “Stop jittering,” Derek says, putting a hand on Stiles’s bouncing thigh.
> 
> Stiles giggles. “Jittering,” he repeats. “It’s funny when you say it.”

Stiles gets the phone call late the next morning when he is on his first cup of coffee, still a bit caught up in a post-sex haze. It takes him a moment to find his cell in the mess of his bedroom, and once he locates it, he sees it is Lydia.

“Lydia! How is my _favorite_ young woman doing?” he asks cheerfully the instant he picks up.

“Wondering how my client is doing,” Lydia answers smoothly.

“I am fabulous, thanks for asking.” Stiles ambles back into the kitchen and begins rummaging around for a bowl. Is eleven o’clock too late for a cereal breakfast? Maybe. Stiles does not know and does not particularly care.

“I assume you’re done moping,” Lydia says.

Stiles freezes in the middle of pouring out his Cheerios. “You never assume,” he says warily. “You only make educated guesses that always turn out right.”

“I’m glad you think so highly of me, Stiles,” Lydia says.

“Lydia, you know I hate playing the cat and mouse game.”

“You love that game. You just hate being the mouse.”

“Lydia! Please, just get to the point.”

Lydia _hmm_ s thoughtfully, and God, that has got to be the most dangerous sound Stiles has ever heard. “Your current mood wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Derek Hale, now, would it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Congrats to you?” Stiles says, setting down the Cheerios in case he gets the urge to flail his arms. He can feel it coming. “But how did you figure out?”

“Paparazzi.”

Yup, here is the flail. Despite his precautions, Stiles still nearly sends the cereal flying. “Already?” he shouts, snagging the box before it sends delicious honey oats all over the floor.

“Yup. This morning, outside your apartment building, they got some photos of Derek, and he’s wearing that shirt you wore to Comic Con three years ago.”

Stiles is incredulous. “How do you remember that?”

“That was the year you had that disastrous interview with _Tiger Beat_ ,” Lydia says, “but they somehow still ended up liking you.”

“Wow, Lydia. I’m hurt.”

Lydia completely ignores his comment. “While no one else has yet realized that,” she pushes on, “you know someone is eventually going to make the connection, and when that happens, it’s not too hard to realize your apartment building is in the photo, and you and Derek have been filming a movie together.”

Stiles drags out an exhale, suddenly exhausted. “Okay. All right. I can deal with this.”

“I just wanted to give you a heads-up,” Lydia says, her tone a fraction gentler.

“I know. I appreciate it.”

“So where does your relationship stand?”

A huge smile spreads over Stiles’s face. “I really like him.”

“Duh.”

“And – for some God-knows-what reason – he really likes me back.”

“Wow. Just like a pair of teenagers.”

“Hey!” Stiles protests indignantly. “Be a little happy for me, will you?”

“I am happy for you,” Lydia says sincerely. “Congratulations. I expect to have dinner with him when I come visit.”

“Of course.”

“And Jackson says congrats for finally getting laid. He was getting concerned about your blue balls.”

Stiles laughs. “Tell Jackson I’m worried about how much he thinks about my sex life,” he says playfully. “He’s a married man. It’s very unbecoming of him.”

Lydia laughs, and Stiles happily digs into his cereal.

* * *

Derek has just knocked on the door of Stiles’s apartment when his phone pings. He digs it out and sees a new Facebook message from Laura: _Man, Stiles was a party animal in his college years._

Derek frowns, and the door swings open. “Did you friend Laura?” Derek asks, holding up his phone to show Stiles.

Stiles grins. “Yup. All your siblings, actually, and your mother.” He shuts the door behind Derek and pauses. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It is,” Derek says. Stiles has gone back to his laptop and briefly types something before shutting the screen.

“Laura and Cora have already messaged me to assure me that any broken hearts will result in my body, in several pieces, being fed to the mountain lions that harass your ranch.”

Derek’s cheeks turn red. “God, I’m sorry.”

Stiles laughs. “Nah, it’s okay. They’re hilarious.”

Derek pockets his phone and comes around the coffee table to grab Stiles by the hips and seek out a kiss. Stiles sighs against Derek’s lips, letting his body fall against Derek’s chest. “Have a nice day?”

Derek makes an indifferent noise. “Mostly thought about you,” he says honestly, and Stiles’s cheeks redden slightly.

“Lydia called me this morning,” Stiles says, slipping into a more serious tone. He takes a seat on the couch, and Derek perches opposite him on the coffee table. “Apparently the paparazzi snapped some photos of you this morning.”

Derek nods. He was already informed of the photos, first by his mother, then by Amy. “I’m aware.”

Stiles rubs the back of his neck. “So I was just wondering, before … _this_ goes any further. Are you comfortable with us being – open, I guess? No, terrible word choice. Public? Because I didn’t even _tell_ Lydia about us, she just figured it out from that one photo –”

Derek presses a finger to Stiles’s lips, stopping him mid-sentence. “If it’s all right with you,” Derek says, “I don’t want to hide us.”

Stiles grabs Derek’s wrist to move his finger. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I mean, everyday more people are okay with, like, non-heterosexual people, and I’m sure they all already know I’m bi, but it can be a big thing –”

Derek’s hand lands on Stiles’s knee, and Stiles shuts up when he sees the soft smile curled across Derek’s face. “I think people need to learn,” he says, “that love is love.”

Stiles stares at him for a moment – this amazing, handsome, faceted, beautiful man before him – and breaks into what is probably a stupidly sappy smile. “Okay.”

Derek simply reaches out and pulls Stiles into the space between his knees, curling a hand behind Stiles’s neck so he can pull Stiles down and kiss him deeply.

* * *

“Shit, this tie is going to strangle me. Shit, shit, _shit!_ ”

Derek rolls his eyes and goes to the bathroom. Stiles is wrestling with his tie in front of the mirror, his tongue sticking out and his long fingers tangled in the fine material. He sees Derek and immediately says, “You’re going have to go on without me, Derek. It’s too strong! I’m not going to make it. This is the end of me.”

“Come here, you idiot,” Derek says fondly. He reaches out before Stiles can even shuffle over and fixes the tie. Derek cannot help lightly brushing the skin of Stiles’s throat, and he is rewarded by a flush rising in Stiles’s cheeks.

“There. You look great.”

Stiles assesses himself in the mirror. “I’ve looked worse,” he finally says, and Derek snorts.

“Come on. Ride’s waiting,” Derek says. He smacks Stiles’s butt on his way out of the bathroom, and Stiles squawks before running after him.

“You watch yourself, Hale,” he says warningly. “I’m going to get my payback later tonight.”

Derek smirks. “Sounds good.”

Derek has always felt rather neutral about premier nights. He does not like dressing up formally and dealing with photographers and thirty second flash interviews, but he does love seeing the payoff of several months of rigorous filming.

Even better: this time, instead of one of his sisters on his arm, Derek gets to go to the premier with his boyfriend.

Stiles is absolutely _buzzing_ in his skin. Derek even took the precaution (as recommended by Lydia) to cut off Stiles’s caffeine intake four hours before the premier, but it seems to have made no difference. Stiles is a ball of motion next to Derek in the car, craning his neck to see out the windows.

“Fuck, I’m nervous,” Stiles admits when they are five minutes away from their destination.

“Stop jittering,” Derek says, putting a hand on Stiles’s bouncing thigh.

Stiles giggles. “Jittering,” he repeats. “It’s funny when you say it.”

Derek hums and slides his hand further up Stiles’s thigh. It takes Stiles a minute, but he eventually realizes what Derek is doing, and he glares accusingly down at the thumb that is rubbing along the inside of his thigh. 

“Stop that,” Stiles says. “I _cannot_ go to this thing with an erection.”

Derek chuckles but withdraws his hand, instead pressing a kiss to Stiles’s cheek.

In a few minutes their car is rolling up to the premier venue. When it stops, Derek reaches across Stiles to prevent him from opening the door. Stiles looks back at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Ready?” Derek asks quietly.

“Of course,” Stiles says. He grins mischievously, gives Derek a quick peck, and opens the door to let in the flood of flashing white lights.

* * *

The carpet is chaotic. The shouting voices, the flashing camera bulbs, the obscene amount of designer clothes – Derek thought he would eventually get used to it all, but no. Every premier feels just as stressful as his first. But tonight, Derek has Stiles, and man, could he get used to that.

Stiles thrives on the energy, flitting around from interview to interview, smiling and laughing and posing with the most ridiculous facial expressions. Derek has to drag him away from photobombing Matt Daehler _at least_ six times, and Stiles is utterly unapologetic about it every time. “Loosen up, babe,” he says with a teasing smile, elbowing Derek in the ribs. Derek huffs but nevertheless draws closer to Stiles, brushing Stiles’s lower back underneath his suit jacket.

“Mr. Hale! Mr. Stilinski!”

A Latina woman in a creme-colored dress calls them over, and before Derek can pretend to not hear and take off, Stiles snags his hand and pulls him over to the interview. “Be nice,” Stiles mutters from the corner of his mouth.

Derek pinches Stiles’s side and gets a yelp for his troubles. “I’m always nice,” he grumbles, and Stiles pats his cheek consolingly.

The interviewer smiles sharply, giving each man a quick once over when they arrive. “The two leads of _A Little Push!_ How are you two feeling tonight?”

And then there is a microphone being shoved in Derek’s face. “Pretty excited,” Derek says, managing to draw his lips up in a smile. It helps that Stiles is there, his long fingers pressing lightly against Derek’s elbow.

“In Derek speak, that means inside, he’s hopping around like a kid who just had too much candy,” Stiles says helpfully.

Derek rolls his eyes even as he smiles.

The interviewer laughs, her eyes glittering. “We’ve heard so much about this movie, from previews to interviews to sneak peaks,” she says, “but we haven’t heard much more than the original synopsis. Is there anything you can tell us about the movie, or what to expect from it?”

Stiles glances at Derek, and Derek nods, encouraging him to take the lead. “It’s a phenomenal film,” Stiles says. “The writers and the directors worked so hard to make such a complex and well-put-together film, and I think we might have just pulled it off.” He grins at Derek, and Derek feels a warmth spread in his chest.

“It has a really powerful message,” Derek adds, “Several of them, actually. There’s action, there’s great plot, but the film dives right into harder-hitting, more complicated themes. Of course there’s the good versus evil, but there’s also so much to do with life and loss, grief, love, and acceptance. I’d definitely say acceptance is one of the top ideas the film plays with.”

Stiles nods along with him. “I think we all knew – the cast, that is – as soon as we read the script, this was meant to be something extraordinary.”

The interviewer nods. “I can’t wait to see it myself,” she says. “Now – as I’m sure you are well aware, by now, there has been quite the talk in Hollywood about you two.”

Derek flushes and resists the urge to hide his face in Stiles’s neck, but Stiles just laughs. “Really? Has there?”

The interviewer smirks. “Oh, absolutely. And we’ve all been wondering … we haven’t seen a single kiss!”

Oh, God. This. Derek likes his personal life to stay his personal life, thanks.

“What can I say? We’re a stealthy pair,” Stiles says nonchalantly. “But …”

Stiles turns to him, expression mischievous, and Derek tenses until he sees something flicker in Stiles’s eyes. _Trust me_ , he seems to say, and Derek does, so he waits for Stiles to move.

Stiles leans towards him slowly, tilting his head just so, and for a moment, even _Derek_ believes Stiles is about to land one on him, but at the last moment, Stiles hops up and smacks a kiss on Derek’s forehead. He turns back to the interviewer, who looks as though she has just been cheated out of something. Derek stifles a laugh and subtly threads his fingers through Stiles’s.

“I’m sure someone will eventually catch us macking on each other,” Stiles says, “but for now, it’s all very … mysterious.” Stiles glances at Derek and winks at him with the eye that is not facing the cameras. Derek snorts, because his _boyfriend_ is ridiculous.

The interviewer recovers herself, smiling reappearing. “Well, we’re looking forward to the screening! Thank you for your time.”

“Thank you,” Stiles says, and Derek nods before Stiles tugs him away.

“It concerns me, how involved people want to get in our relationship,” Stiles mutters.

“Agreed,” Derek says darkly, and Stiles cracks a smile, squeezing Derek’s hand as he does so.

They see many of their castmates there. Matt photobombs Stiles a few times for revenge; Braeden, pulling off a combination of leather and glitter that no one but she could wear, is there with a couple of her cousins. They run into Jennifer and her soccer – _football_ – player husband, Declan O’Something, and Kira introduces both Derek and Stiles to her _friend_ , Malia.

“So you and Malia are friends, right?” Derek overhears Stiles say to Kira in an undertone.

“Yeah, we are.”

“Friends … like Derek and I are friends?”

Kira is shocked speechless for a moment. “It’s – Maybe?” she finally stutters out. “It’s complicated.”

Stiles nods understandingly. “We’re always here to support you. Okay?”

“Thanks, Stiles.”

They make some rough plans to hang out – Stiles is going to introduce Kira to Allison (“I might just be initiating the end of the world,” Stiles tells Derek) – and then Derek and Stiles are swept away with the crowd entering the theater.

“Kira and Malia, huh?” Derek asks in a low voice once they take their seats.

Stiles nods. “I hope they figure out where they want to be,” he says. “Having shit like that hanging around is awful.”

“Maybe watching this will help,” Derek offers, nodding at the blank screen before them.

Stiles inhales deeply. “God, I hope it helps someone out there.”

“I’m sure it will,” Derek says. He kisses the back of Stiles’s hand, and Stiles grins, settling in to watch their movie, his body a line of heat against Derek’s. The last people take their seats, the house lights dim, and the screen comes to life, the music beginning to sprinkle in through the speakers.

 _God_. It is finally happening.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But how is it, in your paradise?” Morgan asks
> 
> Stiles snorts at her word choice, and Derek nudges him lightly. “We’re doing well, thank you,” Derek says.
> 
> “He steals the covers at night,” Stiles whispers. “My feet get cold.”
> 
> “I do not,” Derek protests.
> 
> “I’m going to get frostbite, one of these days.”
> 
> “We live in southern California.”

_“Some people believe in signs.”_

_A sun rises on a city rooftop, outlining the silhouette of a lean but broad-shouldered man. As the sun rises, the frame flashes to the city streets; flashes of early morning life, of commuters and workers and schoolchildren._

_“Some people believe that everything happens for a reason. Happiness, sadness, successes, failures. Love. Grief. Loss.”_

_As the narration lists, shots fly by the screen. Children playing; an impoverished woman with a child. A college student making a valedictorian speech, a devastated surgeon with a flatline in the trauma room of a hospital; a split-second of Derek looking at someone outside of the shot, his eyes wide as if he is seeing the whole world anew. A skyscraper with_ Baylor Industries _emblazoned on its side. Jennifer, gorgeous and made-up, with a gun on her hip and an engagement ring in her hand. A large house blazing, a terrifying and beautiful inferno, burning in slow motion as embers rain down from the sky._

_“Maybe there’s a god out there. Maybe there isn’t.”_

_Back to the rooftop. The sun has risen, lighting up the man’s profile – Stiles’s profile. He watches the city, breath fogging in the air._

_Flash to Braeden, in uniform, crouching over a dead body at a crime scene. Zoom in on Kira, in the background, wearing a sweater with a huge black hood._

_Flash to Matt, sitting in his office, turning over an emerald ring in his fingers: Dieses Schloss, Diese Blutlinie._

_“But if there’s one thing I know …”_

_Flash to Stiles, no longer on the roof, but in a small, modest bedroom, kneeling on the floor, speaking with the narration. His narration._

_“There is exactly one thing you can rely upon in this world. And that’s you.”_

_In the dead of the night, Derek crouches on the ledge of an apartment building. He is dressed in black, with gloves and a mask and an impassive expression. He is dressed as the Alpha. He looks across the street, into the bedroom of a single apartment, where Stiles is asleep and tangled in the sheets._

_“You make or break yourself. And it’s hard.”_

_The shots flood by again, with each word Stiles says._

_“There’s suffering. There’s struggle. There’s pain.”_

_Stiles, angrily ripping papers off a bulletin board, sweeping files off his desk. Jennifer, in early, early morning light, frantically running into an alleyway, only to be trapped on all sides by four men. Derek being hurled off a building, down to the street five stories below._

_“But you can rise above all of that. You_ can _.”_

_A small, sunlit garden overflowing with colorful flowers, where Derek sits on a wooden chair. Stiles, in a police uniform, laughing as a group of young children swarm around his legs. Stiles and Derek, standing on a rooftop, as the sun rises on the city._

_“But you have to be strong. Because to fall …”_

_A casket being lowered into the ground, painfully bright green grass framing the hole dug six feet down._

_“ … all it takes …”_

_Explosions. Jennifer’s face, splattered with blood, caught in a frozen scream. Stiles, staring at his hollow and gaunt reflection, the veins in his arms blue in the artificial light. Kira, with a gun to her forehead. Derek crawling away from Matt, Matt with his cold eyes and perfect suit and stone heart and emerald ring._

_Suddenly: Stiles’s face, filing the entire frame. Amber eyes, like whiskey, like maple syrup in the golden sunlight. Bowed lips, always parted, never truly shut; saying softly, but with utter conviction:_

_“… is a little push.”_

* * *

“Wow, what a preview!” Morgan says with a beaming smile as the audience bursts into applause. “But if I do say so myself, it has nothing on the movie itself.”

Six months after the preview, and _A Little Push_ is still getting approval from around the world. The cast is still doing interviews, the movie is still getting reviews from critics and blogs, and the DVD pre-orders are rising to record numbers. Stiles has trouble believing it all, sometimes. 

He is sitting at yet another interview, this one with Morgan Greene early on a Saturday morning. He is contented, relaxed, and that may or may not have to do with the man sitting by his side.

Since this whirlwind of a production, Derek has been a constant at Stiles’s side. Derek brings entertainment and electricity and vitality to Stiles’s life, starting from the moment Stiles wakes and lasting until he falls asleep. They do not share an apartment – not at the moment, anyway – but they always end up at each other’s places. Thank God they do not live that far apart.

Oh, and the sex is fucking _fantastic_.

“Now, I can’t be alone in saying _A Little Push_ was nothing like I was expecting,” Morgan says. “Everything leading up to the release was unusually vague.”

Derek nods. “From the get go, the producers were really set on keeping things quiet,” he says. “They knew they had something big going on, and to give too much away would take away some of the film’s effect.”

Morgan hums her agreement. “How was it, getting into the character of Ryder Styles, or – as most people call him – the Alpha?”

“It was definitely something different for me,” Derek replies. “I’ve played the strong and silent hero type, and I’ve played the brooding and introspective type –”

“Your Michelangelo certainly did brood a lot,” Stiles quips.

Derek laughs. “Absolutely. Can never get enough of that tortured artist type. Playing Ryder, though, I had to pull together so many different elements. He’s a really well-faceted character, and I think the biggest thing was the grief that he carried.”

“Grieving was a central part of _A Little Push_ , was it not?” Morgan asks.

“Huge,” Stiles says, “So huge. More so on Ryder’s part than Cory’s, but even Cory had his losses.”

“I have a large family myself,” Derek says, “And imagining what would happen if I lost them all in a single tragedy, like Ryder did … Well, I know I certainly wouldn’t have reacted the way Ryder did.”

“You probably would’ve become a recluse,” Stiles says teasingly.

“Probably. I’d find some abandoned cabin on the side of the mountain, spend my time brooding and growing a beard.”

“Making friends with the rabbits and wolves.”

“Stiles, what was your favorite part about playing Cory?” Morgan asks, trying to drag them back to the interview.

Stiles shifts in his seat. “Getting to play Cory was a huge step up for me,” he says. “I’m so thankful that someone, somewhere, deemed my audition passable –”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Derek says.

“I have my opinions,” Stiles says lightly. “Cory is the first major role I’ve taken on. I mean, my track record before _Little Push_ was mainly indie films or the humorous sidekick. Don’t get me wrong, I love those roles, but taking on Cory was something else entirely. And it was great.”

“So will you be looking for roles similar to Cory, in the future?”

Stiles shares a look with Derek. “We’ll see,” he says. “I have a few potential projects in the back of my mind right now, so we’ll see where I end up.”

Morgan nods, flicking a strand of red hair out of her eyes. “Now, I think the biggest shock for most people when seeing _A Little Push_ for the first time was the _romance_. Do you two have anything to say about that?”

Stiles blinks at Derek, and Derek just blinks back, so Stiles decides to go for it. “I’m not sure if shocking is the right word,” he says carefully. “I mean, I’ve heard that before release, people were predicting potential couples like crazy. Like, fans would photoshop promo posters of me and Derek with Braeden or Kira, sometimes even Jennifer. So having Cory and Ryder ending up as the main romance of the film was a bit of a surprise for some people. But I also think that we’re in the day and age that seeing two men fall in love? It shouldn’t be a shock. It’s happened for hundreds of years and will happen for hundreds more. I mean – “ Stiles grins, gesturing between himself and Derek “ – Exhibit A, right here.”

Morgan nods. “Very true. You and Derek ended up the same way Cory and Ryder did!”

“I’m not so sure,” Derek says drily. “We’re not exactly in Italy right now.”

Stiles gives him a look of mock surprise. “Aw, baby,” he pouts, “All you had to do was _say_ so.”

Derek arches an eyebrow at him, and Stiles punches his arm, making Derek break into a smile.

“But how is it, in your paradise?” Morgan asks

Stiles snorts at her word choice, and Derek nudges him lightly. “We’re doing well, thank you,” Derek says.

“He steals the covers at night,” Stiles whispers. “My feet get cold.”

“I do not,” Derek protests.

“I’m going to get frostbite, one of these days.”

“We live in _southern California_.”

Morgan looks mildly amused by their bickering. “If you had anything to say to people,” she prompts, “who might be struggling with their identity, sexual or otherwise, what would it be?”

“I think the most important thing to know is that no one knows you better than yourself,” Derek says. “What you feel, that is entirely you, and no one else should be allowed to tell you differently.”

“And if you’re scared to come out or declare yourself in any way,” Stiles adds, “There is always someone out there who has gone through what you’re going through, and there is always, out there, someone or some community who will give you their support.”

“You’re never truly alone,” Derek says.

“Wise words indeed,” Morgan says and then smiles sweetly. “Thank you very much for your time!”

“Thanks for having us,” Derek says, and Stiles echoes his sentiments.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski from _A Little Push!_ ” Morgan calls to the audience, and they break into applause. Stiles waves at them, and Derek leans into Stiles’s side.

“Can’t believe how much of a difference this movie is making,” he murmurs.

Stiles tilts his head. He may be incredulous about the reality of all of _this_ , of being here in this moment after filming all those months ago, but never for one minute did he doubt the power of this film and its script.

“I can,” Stiles says, “And I’m glad it is.”

Derek grins and lightly nuzzles his face against Stiles’s shoulder.

In a couple hours, Stiles knows, he and Derek will return to Stiles’s apartment. There will be a coffee table overflowing with papers awaiting them, the beginnings of their very own screenplay. Maybe they will work on it for a little bit; maybe they will go out for dinner; or maybe they will fall into bed, either to enjoy each other or to simply fall asleep. Stiles does not have a plan; _they_ do not have a plan, but that is okay. Stiles is spreading love by doing something he loves with the man he loves by his side, and he cannot imagine a life better than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is the end of the story! Chapter 7 will just contain short descriptions of some of the "films" that Derek and Stiles were part of before A Little Push, along with a very vague synopsis of A Little Push.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A list of some of Stiles and Derek's past roles, and a summary of A Little Push for those interested.

**Stiles’s past roles:**

Brad, _Faith In You and Me_ : indie coming-of-age film about a troubled teen with his single mother in New York City

Dex, _Annie and_ Dex: indie rom com about Dex, a guitarist, and Annie, a straight-A  honors student with drug problems

Twirler, _The Circus Freak_ : in an enigmatic night circus, Twirler is a knife thrower, just one of the many sideacts to the larger show

Quinn, _Baby, What’s the Problem?_ ; in an indie rom com, Diana is the neighborhood babysitter whose business is suddenly put at risk by the arrival of Quinn, another popular, high-school babysitter

Nightwing, _The Dark Knight: Beneath the Darkness_ : a Batman spin-off

Caius, _Caedes Inexcusabilis_ :a historical film about the battle of Pistoria, Caius is a Roman commander under Gaius Antonius Hybrida; title means “inexcusable slaughter” in Latin

Vince Cahill, _Contrapposto_ ; heist film about a motley group of art thieves

Cory Montgomery, _A Little Push_.

* * *

**(Some of) Derek’s past roles:**

Michelangelo, _In Perfect Balance_ , Oscar-winning role; the story of Michelangelo on his journey to creating _David_ , with romantic tension with a woman Michelangelo knows and also his male student

Charlie Rosario, _Reckoning_ , Oscar-winning role; dark action film

Gerald (“Gerry”), _For the Better_ : Reagan (played by Kate Argent), a sharpshooter and cowgirl who travels the West, spends the summer at the ranch where Gerald is a farmhand, and a romance between them ensures

Catcher Robinson, _The Lady of the Dark Oak_ ; a horror movie in which a beautiful young woman (played by Jennifer Blake) is secretly a serial killer, and the private investigator, Catcher “Catch” Robinson, who suspects her feigned innocence, is one of her final victims; the killer is never caught

Ian Thatcher, _Lost Causes_ : Ian is one of the many children of a gang leader who is involved in a gang war, and Ian decides to step in to try to help his siblings

* * *

 

 ** _A Little Push_ :** Action adventure. When Ryder Styles is only seventeen, nearly his entire family is murdered in a house fire. Thrown into a dark place, Ryder goes crazy with revenge until he kills his family murderers, but even after taking them out, Ryder is still lost. He takes to “protecting” his city and wiping out the corrupt. This new vigilante – named “The Alpha” by the people of the city – drives the police department crazy. After an unfortunate explosion at a mission gone wrong, the vigilante goes into hiding for six years, during which the city falls further into destruction and chaos. It is not until Baylor Industries suddenly rises in power and wealth while simultaneously gaining connections in the crime world of the city that Ryder is drawn out again. He is not the only one, though; Cory Montgomery, recruited to the police three years ago, is drawn into the vigilante case. Ryder and Cory meet and quickly fall for each other. It is not long until Cory figures out Ryder’s secret and decides to join Ryder on his mission to expose and take down Baylor Industries. In the final showdown, Cory saves Ryder’s life, and the police chief kills Andrew Baylor. At the end of it all, Ryder gives up his vigilante life and moves to Italy with Cory, leaving the city in peace.

Derek Hale = Ryder Styles = The Alpha

Stiles Stilinski = Cory Montgomery = police officer

Matt Daehler = Andrew Baylor = head and owner of Baylor Industries and heir to the Ziegler family estate (the Zieglers: rich German family heavily involved with crime world and black market)

Braeden = police chief

Kira Yukimura = Deanna = cousin of Ryder Styles, computer science major in college and skilled hacker/researcher

Jennifer Blake = Carmine = street girl who was roped into Ziegler family affairs at a young age; now a drug carrier, a hired assassin, and Andrew Baylor’s “pet”


End file.
